


Castiel and Crowley TNM Episode 3: The Antichrist of the Week

by WatchingOne



Series: Castiel and Crowley: The Next Missions [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingOne/pseuds/WatchingOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Crowley are (finally) in over their heads, and need a little advice from some seasoned veteran Hunters. So Sam and Dean Winchester are out of the Bunker and going on down to Georgia to meet up with Crowley and Castiel, and see if they can put the breaks on the coming Apocalypse.</p><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: This is Episode 3 of Castiel and Crowley: The Next Missions (a.k.a. TNM). It is strongly recommended to read the other two episodes first to catch up with everything that's been going on with C-squared, or you might get a bit lost! You can find them on my works page (WatchingOne). Thanks for reading, and I hope that you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Next

#  ** Next **

Pastor Lucas Wald wiped the sweat off of his forehead and shut his office door behind him. He felt along the wall and switched on the light. He wobbled a bit and walked to his plush office chair, took off his white jacket, placed it carefully on the back of the chair, and then sat down heavily in it, blowing out a puff of air from his mouth.

He picked up a remote control from his desk and switched on a big-screen TV mounted on the wall. At the same time he pushed the power button on his PC and waited for it to start up. The TV was on his congregations' dedicated channel, so he switched it over to CNN. He needed to get some material for his next sermon.

Not that he thought he needed to put much effort into it. The “Light of Heaven” congregational revival hall had been packed for the last week. Not an extra advertising dollar spent. Pastor Wald had been in the Televangelism business for over thirty years now, and he had never seen his membership so full. The more disasters that happened, the more parishioners came streaming through his door. He smiled. His auditorium, which he had bought in the 1980's when Televangelism was in its' heyday, could seat over three-thousand worshippers. In the last week, for the first time in his career, he had considered expanding it. He shook his head and reached into a drawer in his desk as the PC blinked to life. He pulled out a bottle of JD and a shot glass. He poured and downed a shot in one smooth motion, then repeated it immediately. He let a satisfied sigh and turned op the volume on the TV.

“....officials were concerned of a possible chemical contamination, but early reports indicated that simply the entire lake had turned to what appeared to be, and I feel I must apologize to our listeners, but I am  _quoting...._ blood. The Army Corp of Engineers, who is responsible for the upkeep of the over 30,000 acres of Lake Granada, refused further comment on the initial reports....”

Pastor Wald leaned back in his chair and grinned. Oh yes, expansion was going to be  _more_ than needed. Hell, he might even be able to get that Cessna he'd had his eyes on for the last few years. He entered his password 'RighteousBucks' on his computer and pulled up his office program, typing the first few lines of his next sermon. _The more fire and brimstone, the better_ , he thought, laying it on heavily as to how the world was obviously being punished for it's immorality. Sprinkled in with a healthy dose of 'how were his parishioners souls prepared for the coming Rapture', and he was looking at a avalanche of new donations.

He was just finishing the last few lines, condemning the homosexual agenda in Hollywood and the open support of major media, when he felt someone watching him. He frowned and turned halfway in his chair. He scanned his office behind him and saw nothing, just a stack of his new promotional material - his “Are  _You_ Ready for What's Next?” campaign. The poster showed a young couple standing on a tall hilltop staring reverently into the sky. He thought it was one of his best campaigns yet. For a 'small' donation of $10,000, he was offering a weekend seminar complete with workshops that he would personally host and conduct. The goal was to ensure the participants of their salvation and reward in Heaven. This was going to make him millions during a fifty state tour, ending in Hawaii, naturally.

He heard a rustling sound behind him and spun his chair, seeing nothing again. His eyes darted around the room nervously and he felt a chill race down his spine.  _Screw this_ , he thought, and reached into another desk drawer and pulled out his nickel-plated .50 caliber Desert Eagle.

“Somebody in here?”, he called out in a heavy southern accent. “You better be one of the cleaning crew, or you're gonna end up with a new ventilation system in ya.” He saw a shadow on the wall next to the TV and his hand jerked. The gun fired, the cracking cannon-shot noise instantly making his ears ring.

“Jesus Christ!”, he cried out, standing up and moving quickly as his bulk allowed from behind his desk. He had just put a rather large hole in an authentic Greek plinth that he had bought at Sotheby's. A chunk of marble slid off of it as he approached and shattered on the ground. He let out a groan and bent to pick up some of the rubble.

“Try again,” came a calm and icy voice from the direction of his desk. Pastor Wald stood up and held the gun out in a shaky grip, pointing directly at a figure in the shadows, standing behind his desk and looking out of the large picture window.

“Who....who the hell are you and how the hell did you get in here?”, Pastor Wald demanded, anger rising in his voice.

The figure turned slowly and the Pastor's jaw dropped a little.... _it's just some kid_ .... _what in the_ ....He lowered his gun and moved angrily to stand in front of his desk, his face turning red.

“Is this some kind of high school prank or somethin'? Sneak into the good Pastor's office or some crap? Damn, son, you are in a lot of trouble.” He began to reach for the phone to call security, but quicker than he could follow, the kid yanked the phone off of the desk, sending it crashing to the floor. Pastor Wald glared at him furiously.

The teen eyed him and shook his head slowly. “No, Pastor Wald. This is not a prank. The fact is, I need you to do something for me.”

Pastor Wald let out a deep sigh. “Look, kid, if you got a sick family member or something, then come back on Sunday. Faith healings are free to paying parishioners, but my office, after hours? This is not a charity, son, and I am a  _very_ busy man.”

The kid met his gaze without blinking. The pastor felt the icy chill in his spine deepen. He involuntarily gripped his gun tighter.

“I don't need any faith healing, Pastor Wald. I need you to send a message for me.”

The pastor cocked his head, not understanding. “A message? What message? Son, what are you going on about?”

The teen placed his hand on the Pastor's desk and smoke began to rise out from under his palm. “What.....?”, Pastor Wald was able to stutter out before the kid took his hand away. There was a symbol burned into the desk. The Pastor looked down at it and then back to the teen quickly, who was still watching him patiently.

“Shit, you little s.o.b., that desk there is a goddamned antique! What the hell did you just do to it?” He looked back down at the symbol. It appeared to be an inverted cross with a vine or a rope wrapped around it. There were dual columns of flame behind it, coming to two distinct points over the top of the cross. “What is this supposed to be?”, the pastor shouted.

“It's my message,” the teen replied. “I want you to put it on all of your broadcast material. Flyers. Hymn books. Posters. Even on the television show. I want it  _everywhere_ .”

Pastor Wald looked up at him. “Are you on drugs or something? Just why in the flipping hell would I do that?”

“Because if you don't, I will tear out your guts right here and stuff them down your throat.”

Pastor Wald's face flushed. “You threatening me, kid? I've got a gun....”

The teen shrugged. “It'll take a lot more than that to stop me, pastor. But you're welcome to try.” With that, the teen moved swiftly around the desk, half leaping over the edge. The pastor scrambled back, the gun raising again.

“Keep back, you crazy little shit, I'm warning you!”, he yelled. Sweat began to stream down his face as the teen advanced, looking calm and cool.

“Yawn,” the kid said, bored. “Go ahead. You got about two seconds before I tear you apart.”

“I said, I'm  _warning_ you!!, the pastor yelled, stumbling back until his back was at the door.

“And I said, I don't care,” the teen replied, grabbing the shoulder of Pastor Wald with an iron grip. To his horror, he felt himself being lifted against the wall, the pain in his shoulder excruciating.

The gun fired, hitting the kid squarely in the chest. The pastor blinked in horror.

“Oh hell, what've I done? I'm sorry, I'm sorry....”, he squeaked out.

The teen looked back at him and continued to smile. The pressure on the pastor's shoulder increased as the kid brought his other hand to the pastor's chest and began to press on it. Pastor Wald felt his ribs giving way, ready to crack. He fired again, point blank in the kid's face. He watched in terror as the bullet seemed to hit the teen's skin and melt there in a blazing slag, before sliding off harmlessly to the ground. The teen glanced down at the smoking remains of the bullet and continued to smile. Pastor Wald emptied his clip as he felt his first rib crack, a lightning bolt of pain shooting through him. Gunsmoke rose all around the two as the teen moved his face closer to Pastor Wald's own.

“Last chance,  _padre_ ,” the teen practically hissed. “Are you going to carry my message for me, or not?”

Lucas Wald licked his lips hurriedly. “Yes, yes, whatever you want, just let me go!”, he stammered out in a panic. Immediately the teen released his shoulder and the pastor landed in a heap on the floor. He looked at the charred remains of his bullets scattered all over the marble floor and back up at the teen, who had moved back over to look out of the window.

“What...who...are you?”, the pastor practically whispered.

The teen looked back, a smile curling on his lips. “Why, we're 'What's Next' Pastor Wald,” the teen grinned widely, slapping one of the promotional posters. He sighed when the pastor just looked at him, dumbfounded. ”No one appreciates a good joke anymore....fine, I'm an Angel, Pastor Wald. You have nothing to fear from me.....as long as you do as I say, that is....” His eyes met the pastors' and shined briefly an intense white.

Pastor Wald scrambled back against the wall. “A...a...what?”

The teen sighed. “An Angel, Pastor Wald, an Angel on a holy mission. And now, our mission is also your mission. It's really not that complicated.”

“But...I don't believe....”

The teen turned around and cocked his head. “Oh, I know that, already. I'm not hear because of your unwavering faith in the Divine, Pastor Wald. I'm here because your 'church' here is uniquely positioned to spread the word.  _My_ word.”

“That...that logo thing there, that's it?”

“Yes, pastor, that's it.”

“And then you'll leave me the hell alone?”

“You'll never see me again, Pastor. Cross my heart,” the teen said, making the sign of the cross across his chest, a mocking smile on his face. “But, “ he continued, the smile fading. “I will be sending my... _advocate_ by tomorrow morning to coordinate with you and make sure you stay on track. A Mr. Jesse Turner. I suggest you be extra accommodating to him. And, if you try to back out of this deal....”

“No, no, whatever you want you crazy bastard, just leave me the hell alone.”

The teen shrugged. “No one likes to just hang out and talk anymore,” he sighed. “I blame twitter.” With that, he simply vanished, leaving no sign that he was ever there.

The pastor sat on the floor and shook for a good five minutes before carefully rising, holding his injured ribs. He walked slowly over to his desk again, trying to avoid looking at the symbol until the last second. He regarded it and sat back down again. He picked up his phone and placed the receiver back in its' cradle. He grimaced and pulled the bottle of whiskey out of the drawer, this time not bothering with a shot glass, downing a third of the bottle in practically one gulp.

He pushed the call button on the phone.

“Jeanine, It's Pastor Wald. Get me marketing on the phone. And call my wife. Tell her I need to work late tonight.”

 


	2. Mission Control

#  ** Mission Control **

The black Impala streaked down the highway past the road sign for I-75, indicating only 50 more miles to Atlanta. Dean leaned back in his seat and glanced over at Sam, who was still busy on his laptop, oblivious to the world outside.

“You know, it's good maybe to get you out of there for awhile,” Dean said, turning down AC/DC on the radio. “You're getting kinda...I dunno...nerdier.”

“Hm?”, Sam murmured, not looking up.

“Forget it,” Dean grumbled, maneuvering Baby around a slow moving truck. He watched the highway speed by for a few minutes before turning the radio all the way down.

“Sammy, did you even hear what I just said?”, Dean asked, irritated.

Sam looked up from his laptop, a confused look on his face. “What, Dean? Did you say something?”

Dean sighed. “See? That's exactly what I'm talking about, bro. You are like, oblivious to the outside world these days. Even if it's sitting right next to you.”

“Dean, that's a  _good_ thing,” Sam gave him that half-worried, half-sympathetic look that he used when he was trying to explain something that he thought was obvious. “Remember what happens when we interact too much with the outside world? Especially now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean groused. “But that doesn't mean you gotta go all Rain Man on me. What is it you're so busy with over there, anyway?”

“Not much,” Sam sighed, turning back to his laptop. “Just tracking down Jesse Turner's movements over the last few days. Dean, he isn't that hard to find. I've got exact movements.”

“That's good though, right?”, Dean said, taking the exit ramp onto 285.

“No, Dean, that makes me nervous,” Sam replied.” He's almost brazen about it. Like he's daring us to come find him. Look at this,” he said, turning the laptop's screen towards Dean. “ He even took out credit card accounts in his actual name.”

Dean glanced over and then back at the road. He let out a curse as he almost rammed another car crossing three lanes at once. “Geez! Frikkin' maniac, “ he grumbled. “Sammy, put that thing away for now. We're almost there, and this road is more dangerous than some of the crap we've hunted before.”

About an hour later, the Impala pulled into an underground parking space at Peachtree Towers. Dean and Sam got out and went to the elevator, pressing the button for the thirteenth floor. They got out and walked to the end of a sparsely carpeted hallway, where a pair of wooden doors to an office stood. There was a brass plate attached to the right one with the name 'Crowley K.O.H.' etched into it. Below it was another plate with smaller letters reading 'Short Term Contracts' on the first line, and 'Traffic Management Solutions' on the second. Dean rolled his eyes and rang the buzzer.

The door opened and they walked into a surprisingly modern reception area. The walls were a gray marble and there was a flat waterfall running down one of them. A large metal reception desk stood at the opposite end of the doors, and seated under the large brass letters 'Crowley' was a rather nervous looking guy with black hair in a three piece suit. He stood up immediately as Dean and Sam came in.

“Hi, I'm Justin, please take a number and have a seat,” he said, indicating a number dispenser on the desk. 

Dean looked around the reception area and back to Justin, his eyebrows raised.

“Dude, are you kidding? We're like the only ones here.”

Justin shrugged. “Sorry, pal, I don't make the rules. Boss does.” He nodded towards the number dispenser again and smiled, tilting his head towards it.

Sam sighed and grabbed a number out of the machine, looking down at it. He then looked up at the digital readout. He turned his head to the ceiling, exasperated and slapped the number into Dean's chest. Dean glanced down at it. '725' was written on it. He looked up at the display, which read '03'.

“Now serving, number three,” Justin said cheerfully, looking out at the empty chairs in the room. “Number three?” He frowned. “Last chance....number three?” He sighed and pushed a button behind the desk. The digital readout switched to four. Justin looked back up at the Winchesters. “Number four?”

“Oh, screw this,” Dean said, slamming the number down on the desk and pushing at the glass door leading into the office area. Sam followed him.

“Hey! You can't just...”, Justin shouted after them. The door closed behind Dean and Sam, cutting him off.

“And see? That's why I can't stand you Winchesters, you  _never_ let me have any fun,” came a gravelly voice from a conference room to their right.

Dean and Sam turned towards the voice and entered a long room with a mahogany meeting table in the middle. The walls were wood paneled, except for the far wall, which was dominated by bookshelves. Seated at the head of the table with his feet propped up on it, his fingers steepled and regarding the Winchesters with open disdain, was Crowley.

“What the hell man,  _you_ called  _us_ ,” Dean protested, crossing his arms. “You want we should turn right around and head back out that door? Cause that can be arranged....”

Crowley held up his hand in a placating gesture. “Calm down Squirrel, surely you can't begrudge me for a little shot in your direction. After all, the last time we saw each other, you tried to kill me.  _Again_ ,” he emphasized this last, swinging his feet off of the table. “By the way, nice beard, Moose. It really fits you. With the glasses, it makes you  _almost_ look intelligent.”

“Yeah, well, you can't say you didn't have it coming,” Dean muttered.

Sam sighed. “Look, Crowley, like Dean said, you called us....”

“Well, admittedly it was mostly  _his_ idea,” Crowley snarled under his breath. Sam looked around, and gave a gasp as he noticed that Castiel had materialized behind them. Dean closed his eyes slowly and turned around.

“I thought I asked you to never do that,” Dean grimaced, looking Castiel in the eyes.

“Oh, sorry....”, Castiel said, looking at the floor. “I forgot.”

“No problem, Cas, “Dean answered. “It's really good to see you again, man.”

“You as well Dean. Sam,” Castiel added, nodding at Sam.

“Wow, so, it's all back, your full Angel powers, then?”, Sam responded, looking Castiel up and down.

Castiel nodded. “That was part of the deal, that way we'd have a chance in the coming trials.”

Dean shook his head. “Damn good deal, if you ask me. And you still convinced that it was your Father that set all this up?”

Castiel stared at the ceiling before looking back at Dean, nodding. “It absolutely had to be. And there  _is_ the Prophet....”

Crowley let out an exaggeratedly loud sigh and stood up. “Thanks for the recent history lesson, kids, but in the meantime, we have an Antichrist to stop here....any suggestions? Floor's wide open,” he said, raising his eyebrows in mock expectation.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Well, you're the ones supposed to stop all of this. Where are you at tracking him down?”

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, there has obviously been no shortage of Apocalyptic events in the past week. The problem actually is; there are _too_ many. Makes it hard to find out where the little bugger is.”

Sam smiled. “Well, it's a good thing we're here then, because we know exactly where he is.”

Crowley tilted his head. “Well, that's something. At least we know what's to be the next major city we fail to rescue.” He sighed. “First New Orleans, then Baltimore. What's next? Let me hear it....is it Los Angeles? New York? Chicago?”

“How about Jackson, Mississippi?”, Sam said, setting down his laptop and flipping it's cover open.

Crowley rubbed his chin. “Huh. Jackson, Mississippi you say? Are you sure that it's absolutely  _necessary_ to save it?”

Castiel glared at him. Crowley shrugged. “What? It's not like anyone would miss it....”

“Real cute,” Dean said.

Sam hit a few keys on his laptop and turned the screen for the other three to see. “Nah, Jesse has set up there, but we can't exactly figure out what he's up to. He seems to be spending a lot of his time around this guy.” A picture of a overweight , red faced man was on the screen. “Pastor Lucas Wald, of the “Light of Heaven Church” and television power hour. We can't figure out what's he's doing there, but check this out,” he continued, hitting a few more keys. “Check out their viewership and attendance in the last week.” Crowley leaned over and gave a low whistle.

“Is that good?”, Castiel asked, frowning.

“We're talking like NCIS levels here,” Sam mumbled. “He's started to attract a national and even world wide audience in the past week. And I can't figure out why. He's selling a new campaign, that's about it. Something about the 'The Shield of Heaven?'”

Castiel moved closer. “Shield of Heaven? Let me see that.” He squinted at the screen and his face went pale. “Crowley....” he whispered.

Crowley looked closer and straightened up. “Well now, that explains a lot.”

Sam looked at them quizzically. “What does it explain?” 

“We've been seeing this crest pop up in the last month, boys,” Crowley said. “First in New Orleans, and then in Baltimore. Always being worn by a hopped-up kid with far too much power. We managed to track it back to the source. A couple of real characters. An Archangel that Castiel can't seem to recognize and a Greater Demon that I can't.”

“How is that even possible? Aren't you able to recognize energy patterns or something. I remember reading that somewhere...” Sam asked.

Crowley cocked his head, his mouth twisting. “Well, well, well, it isn't just the illusion of intelligence then, is it?” Sam glared back, annoyed. “But to answer your question, yes.“ Crowley continued, “We should be able to recognize any angelic or demonic pattern and identify the host. But these two have seemingly found a way to hide themselves. We're trying to figure out how they're doing it.”

“Any idea who it possibly could be? Wild guesses?” Dean asked.

“We have a list,” Crowley replied, clicking a remote. A screen automatically lowered itself on the wall behind him, and a few pages of illuminated text arranged themselves digitally. Dean gave a low whistle.

“That's pretty cool,“ he said.

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. “What? You two don't a Big Board back at the Moose And Squirrel cave? Castiel, they don't have a Big Board. And here you said they were better informed than us....” Castiel shot him an annoyed glance.

Crowley clicked the remote some more. “The Archangel Raguel is our primary candidate for the heavenly side of the two.” He highlighted an illustration of an Archangel carrying lightning in his hands. “He's the Angel of Vengeance. Likely candidate for all of the mayhem going on. The Demon is harder to pin down. My theory is that it's my  _madre_ , disguising herself and casting spells to hide them both. Castiel here isn't buying that theory.”

Castiel shook his head. “Too powerful. Your mother never carried that level of power.”

“Well, that was of course  _before_ she took over Hell....”, Crowley groused.

“They also keep calling each other 'brother'.”, Castiel added.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Brothers? Guys, that's one hell of a clue. Are there any legendary Angels with Demon for brothers?”

Crowley shook his head. “Now that's a family picnic I'd want to stay away from....”

Castiel frowned. “In theory, any Angel that falls from grace and rebels against heaven can become a demon. It could be any number of them.”

“You never went all dark-eyed,” Dean said pointedly. “And you did all of those things.”

Castiel grimaced and turned away. “I never lost my faith in Father, Dean. I never rebelled against God. That's the difference.”

“So, we got a whole lot of nothing then trying to figure out who those two jokers are,” Dean said, frustrated.

“Well, we have this list of candidates,” Sam said, sighing. “We'll have to approach this systematically, eliminating all possibilities until we get to the truth. We should start with Raguel here. Any ideas on how to track him down?”

Crowley smiled. “Already on it, Moose. Already on it. But priority one is Armageddon boy here, Jesse Turner.”

Sam nodded. “Let us at least talk to him. Last time we ran into Jesse, he seemed a decent enough kid. Aside from that , any thoughts on how much we're allowed to help here? I mean, we know what the prophecy said....”

“I am so _sick_ of that damned prophecy,” Dean practically shouted. “All it's done is put the B-team here on the front line, while we get stuck in the bunker watching the whole damned world get flushed.”

“Don't mince words, there, Squirrel, tell us what you  _really_ think about us...”, Crowley answered harshly. “Look, despite the lack of you two superstars,  _we're_ actually the only ones capable of stopping a pair this powerful, and the prophecy said as much, so dump the egos and get to the helping already. There are two maniacal celestial beings with infinite power out there, and time is running out.”

 


	3. 8 Months Earlier

#  **_8 Months Earlier_** **....**

As far as torture chambers went, Crowley had seen worse. Had been in _much_ worse. The fact that the one he was currently in was because of his mother didn't make it any more horrible.

The fact that he had been so damned _obtuse_ in letting her overthrow him did.

 _My entire kingdom, undone by a hamster_ , he thought, sighing, head drooping.

He derided himself once again when that thought came back. He should have seen that one coming. His mother was so damned insistent on capturing that Coven bitch Olivette. And what does she do when he delivers her on a silver platter? Horrible, painful death? Of course not. Some mild torture followed by transformation into a rodent. Which, Rowena then _conveniently_ left with her son. A talking, informed, and, oh, by-the-way, can hear _every_ secret conversation _and_ plan that Crowley ever had, hamster.

Of course it was a spy for Rowena.

He sighed again heavily, looking at the clock on the wall. It was nearly time for the next 'session'. Ah well, at least they stopped the damned Hanson CD when he was being cut into.

The door creaked open and a decidedly un-demon looking face looked inside and stared at Crowley. It quickly ducked back out. There were immediately hushed whispers to others apparantly waiting just outside the door. Crowley frowned.

 _Moose_?

Sam Winchester came into the room followed by Dean and a small, disheveled looking man that Crowley had never seen before. The little bearded man looked around at the assorted torture instruments with wide eyes and then back at Dean uncertainly.

“Crowley?”, Sam whispered, walking over to where Crowley hung from the wall.

“No, genius, Lady Gaga,” Crowley grumbled. “So. Tell me. Whatever _are_ you two doing in a place like _this_?”

Sam nodded, pulling out a lockpick and releasing Crowley's manacles. With a gasp, Crowley crumpled to the ground. After a few seconds of letting sensation and the blood rush back into his limbs, he looked back up at Sam.

“Are thanks in order? Or is there yet more unpleasantness in store for me?”

Sam grimaced. “We're getting you out of here, Crowley. Believe me, this is not our idea.”

Crowley raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Fine, be mysterious. So, who's that with you here on this field trip?”, he asked, looking at the small man.

“”He's the one that convinced us to come get you,” Dean growled. “Now get your ass in gear, Crowley, we're outta here.”

“Nice to see you again too, Dean,” Crowley grumbled. He glanced at the small man.“ And to whom do I owe my eternal gratitude?”

The guy shifted nervously from foot to foot, looking back out into the hallway. “Um...Chuck Shurley. And...um...could we hurry this up? I have a feeling that there are more than a few guards around here.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “I know that name. Weren't you the Prophet before Kevin Tran?”

Chuck nodded vigorously. Dean rolled his eyes. “We don't have time for this, let's move it!”

Sam helped Crowley onto unsteady legs and the two of them followed a few steps behind Dean and Chuck into the empty hallway. Wordlessly, they creeped along the wall before coming to an intersection. They waited, checking in all directions before hurrying on. They proceeded that way for an indeterminable time, following a labyrinth of dirty, damp halls until they finally reached a symbol carved into a rock wall. The symbol hummed with energy and glowed slightly blue. Crowley let out a low whistle.

“That's _angelic_....where did you get that spell...?”, he started before Sam shoved him rudely into the symbol.

The hall dissolved around him and he found himself standing in an alleyway somewhere. The twin of the symbol was carefully drawn into the concrete where he had just emerged. The Wonder Twins came quickly after, Chuck last. Sam picked up a can of spraypaint lying stashed nearby behind a trashbag and began to cover the symbol with heavy strokes of black paint.

Crowley nodded. “Well, that was well planned, I admit it. Provided one has access to an Angel or two to activate one of those....mind explaining to me?”

“Crowley,” came a gravelly voice from the back of the alley. Crowley closed his eyes slowly. Then he bolted as fast as he could towards the street.

Both Sam and Dean almost immediately tackled him. He couldn't fight them off, his powers had not yet returned to him. He growled ferociously and twisted. “Keep him away from me, you stupid sots! My mother programmed him to kill me!”

A figure in a trenchcoat emerged from the shadows of the alley. Castiel. His eyes shone brightly.

“That spell wore off long ago, Crowley. But there is nothing stopping me from destroying you, “ Castiel growled. “And it will also be for a good reason.”

Sam and Dean held on tighter as Crowley struggled harder.

“Are you sure this will work?”, Sam grunted, looking up at Chuck, who was standing there wringing his hands.

“That's what I wrote down, “ Chuck said quietly. “You execute the Demon with the Keys to Hell and Lucifer is sent back to his prison.”

Crowley groaned. So, _this_ was what this was all about. The bloody Keys to Hell. His mother had been trying for months to get those away from him....and...wait, did they just say, put Lucifer _back_..? He stopped struggling for a second, his brow furrowing.

“What. Did. You. Two. Idiots. Do? Did you let Lucifer, _Lucifer_ , out of his bloody Cage?!,” he asked, his voice full of disbelief.

Sam looked at Dean. Dean shrugged. “It was the only way to stop The Darkness. Lucifer. The Lightbringer,” Dean said simply. “Now we gotta put him back. And you're the way to do that, chuckles. No offense”

Crowley winced. “And after Lucifer is back inside, how do you plan on keeping the Darkness locked away? Did you at least think that far ahead?”

“We put the Mark of Cain back where it belongs,” Sam said.

Crowley twisted his head to look at Dean's arm. It had no mark on it. He looked back at Dean questioningly.

Dean shrugged. “Back on Cain. I didn't exactly....kill him.... like I said...”

Crowley shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Of course you didn't. Why would I have expected the _Winchester's_ to do anything that they said they were going to do? Besides, of course, anything _else_ but causing unparalleled, world-destroying mayhem?”

Castiel took a menacing step forward and Crowley shrunk back. “Wait. Wait!”, he shouted. “Surely there's another way....” He looked around desperately, and then noticed Chuck lying on the ground moaning, clasping his hands around his head. Sam followed his gaze and stood up immediately, releasing Crowley. Dean still held on firmly, though, and Crowley was still in no condition to fight back.

Castiel also looked over at Chuck, concerned. Sam was now crouching over him as Chuck began to stir. “...wait...”, Chuck murmured slowly, looking around, his eyes badly bloodshot. “Wait...don't kill him...”

Sam looked down, puzzled. “What...? Did you just say _don't_ kill him?”

Chuck nodded slowly, groaning. He stood up on wobbly legs. “No...no...there's a new vision. More powerful than the last one....”

Crowley frowned. “What vision? I thought that once a new Prophet came around, that meant the last one was dead. Or was no longer 'in service'.”

Chuck shook his head. “No. I got drafted again. Damn....new vision...Lucifer knows what we're up to. Taking measures...to protect himself....” He held a palm to his forehead. “Don't suppose anyone's got some whiskey around?”

Dean shrugged and stood up, released Crowley and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a silver flask and handed it to Chuck, who drank it up greedily.  
He wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. “Thanks. Thanks, “ he said, handing it back. “Unreal how much that helps.” He looked back up at a Crowley, who was still kneeling in the alley, watching the Prophet and the Angel carefully.

Chuck walked over to Castiel and whispered something in his ear. Castiel's eyes went wide, his face twisting in confusion. “Him?,” Castiel asked loudly, pointing at Crowley. “I can't....I won't,” his shoulders shrugged, resolution coming over him. “Are you absolutely certain?”

Chuck nodded slowly. “Sorry pal, that's what the vision says, “ He said, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. Castiel looked up at the sky, exasperated, before turning a serious, steely gaze back to Crowley.

Chuck walked over to Crowley. Crowley watched him warily.

“Um, Crowley, it looks like we might be actually needing your help here, if you don't mind?”

Crowley felt an evil grin spreading over his lips. “Why....in the name of all hell, would I help you lot of _bloody wankers_ ? You just tried to _kill_ me!!”

Chuck smiled. “Because if you do, everybody wins, and no one has to die. Lucifer gets sent back to the cage, Metatron is exiled from Heaven and Castiel there gets put back in charge. Annnnd,” he said, holding up a finger, cutting off Crowley's protest. “the incentive part for _you_. You get Hell back.”


	4. Sidelined

# Sidelined

Pastor Wald looked nervously out from backstage at the assembly and wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. There were just so _many_ of them....

The past three weeks had been a whirlwind of action that he had not been able to keep up with. He was merely swept along. The kid Jesse Turner showed up the morning after his office 'visit'. The kid gave him the shakes from the beginning. There was just something _off_ about him. And the _questions_ that he asked.....the kid had obviously grown up very isolated, but sometimes Pastor Wald wondered just how isolated that really was. He had seemed amazed at how teleprompters worked, for example. Worse still, credit cards as well...he had no clue how they were connected to bank accounts. It was like he had come off a deserted island.

He learned quickly, though. And he seemed to have some kind of inate ability to bend everything to his will. His viewership and donations had grown beyond freakish proportions under Jesse's guidance. And his ultra loyal viewers....well, they were getting downright scary. They were tattooing that damned symbol on their arms. A sign of protection they called it. The Shield of Heaven. Whatever the hell that meant. All Pastor Wald knew was that their blind devotion was nothing short of creepy.

He looked out again. At least ninety-percent of the lower tier was filled with those nut-jobs, their jaws set in a religious fervor, intent on the empty stage awaiting the sermon to come. Pastor Lucas breathed out heavily and folded the handkerchief neatly back into his jacket pocket. Show time.

He stepped out onto stage to thunderous applause. It almost literally rocked him in his shoes. He squinted a little as he smiled and waved to the crowd, moving past the newly installed spotlights, barely making out the multiple cameras positioned evenly around the auditorium. He reached the podium and gripped it with both hands as a wave of dizziness came over him. He had always dreamed of this kind of an audience, but he had never really expected....

Silence had come over the crowd as the soft notes of the organ signaling the sermons' start reached his ears. He looked up at the teleprompters and began.

He was on automatic for the next hour. The 'show' part of the work was something he had been perfecting for years. He barely paid attention to the words that Jesse had written for him. He did note, however, the stiff clapping and hard nods from the ultra-devout. They had a fanatical look in them that spoke of marching off at a single word from Pastor Lucas into the mouth of Hell itself. Absolutely unsettling. He would need a double shot of whiskey tonight.

He finished up to a standing ovation and worked his way hurriedly off the stage. Jesse was waiting for him there, a bored, expressionless look at his face. Pastor Wald tried to hurry past him, but Jesse caught his arm at the last second. Lucas looked up, met his cold eyes, and involuntarily shivered.

“We have some visitors, Pastor,” Jesse said evenly. “They are not who they say they are, so watch what you tell them. I'll be watching. When you're done, I'll deal with them. Personally.”

With that he nodded slightly, released his arm and melted into the backstage area, quickly disappearing from sight. He had a knack for it. Wald shook his head and moved towards his office, but was stopped by two men approaching in suits. They nodded to each other and walked up to him, reaching into their jackets. Pastor Wald flinched, but they pulled out badges.

“Pastor Wald?”, the short, brown-haired one asked, holding his badge up. “Agents Young and Hetfield, FBI.”

Pastor Wald squinted at the badges. He decided they looked like the real deal, but it was far better to trust Jesse's word on them. The kid was never wrong.

“Look fellas, I'm a really busy man, if it's important, you can schedule something with my secretary and we can talk later, otherwise, I need to get to my office,” he answered, brushing right by them.

The two 'agents' exchanged a quick glance and fell in step right behind him.

“Actually, Pastor, we would just like to ask you a couple of questions, and right now, if it's not too much of a problem,” the taller one, Agent Hetfiled said, moving in front of him.

Pastor Wald stopped, exasperated, and let out a huff. “Fine, shoot. But I only got a couple of minutes,” he answered.

The taller one relaxed his shoulders and pulled out a photo of a young kid.

“We're trying to locate one Jesse Turner. This is the last known photo taken of him. Unfortunately, this was taken almost ten years ago. We have reason to believe that he has been in contact with your office in the last few weeks.”

Pastor Wald took the photo and pretended to study it. It actually had taken him all of a half-second to recognize Jesse, younger or not. He handed it back, shaking his head.

“Sorry fellas, can't help you. Never seen or heard of anyone like that. Now, if you'll excuse me?” He made to shove past them when Agent Young moved to block him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Actually, Pastor, our information is pretty darned good that Jesse Turner _has_ been in contact with you, so if you don't mind, stop lying to us or we'll charge you with obstruction.”

Pastor Wald squinted his eyes angrily and impatiently at them. “Fellas, I already done told ya both...never heard of 'em. So, if you want to charge me with something, go right ahead. My attorney will have me out in about fifteen minutes, and a lawsuit filed in the next hour. So be my guest.”

The two agents looked at each other and the tall one gave an almost imperceptible head shake. Wald was watching carefully, so he caught it. Agent Young sighed.

“Fine, Pastor, have it your way. But we'll be back. With a warrant.”

He clapped his partner on the arm and angrily walked off, his partner trailing. Pastor Wald watched them go, his knees shaking, hoping they weren't actually the real deal, or he was going to be in a lot of trouble. He let out a breath and headed for his office. He had a date with a bottle of JD. Those too had a date with Jesse. He shook his head. _Better you than me, guys_ , he thought, walking quickly to the elevator.

***

Sam and Dean walked down to a side entrance to the auditorium and stopped at the door.

“Well, that was a gigantic waste of time,” Dean muttered, stuffing his badge back in his pocket and looked out at the crowd, trying to spot Jesse.

Sam shrugged. “I dunno. We know damned well the guy is lying. We also know that he just took a hell of a risk to protect Jesse. So, either he's scared as all hell....”

“Or they're already on to us,” Dean finished, his eyebrows raising. “Well, that certainly sucks. C'mon, I haven't seen Jesse, let's get the hell out of here. This entire place gives me the creeps.”

They moved through the door into a back alley behind the church. The Impala was parked a couple of blocks away in a tow-away zone. As they reached the entrance to the alley, there was a buzzing in the air. Sam and Dean stopped short, looking around.

There was an explosion of red light and Sam and Dean stumbled backwards. They held up their arms and blinked hard as a figure walked out of the fading light.

“Hi guys, heard you were looking for me,” said the figure as he casually strode forward.

“Jesse?”, Sam asked cautiously, staring up. The figure nodded.

“Yeah, it's me.”

“Good to see you again, Jess,” Dean said. “Everything allright?”

Jesse shrugged. “I think you already know that it isn't 'Agent Young',” Jesse answered, moving closer.

Dean nodded. “So I've heard.”

They all regarded each other in silence for a long period.

“Jesse,” Sam said slowly, breaking the silence. “ What's going on here, man? Last time there was trouble, you made a really great decision. We thought you were on the right path. What happened?”

Jesse looked at the ground. His head started slowly shaking from side to side and his body shook. The sound of laughter came out and he looked up at them both, smiling.

“What went wrong? What went _wrong_ ?!”, he asked incredulously. “Well, geez, where do I start? Since I listened to you two, what's been going on? Let's see here.....hmmm, Ok, Purgatory got thrown open and the Leviathans almost _ate_ the world....heaven was shut down and the angels started a war on earth....and what was that last one? Oh, riiiight, the Darkness almost destroyed all of Creation....am I missing anything here?”

“No, I think that actually about covers it,” Dean answered sullenly. “Look, man, we stopped a hell of a lot of that.....”

Jesse shook his head. “No, Dean, sorry. Not true. The hard truth is; you two _caused_ a lot of that....look, I like you two, and you helped me out in a really hard time. Believe me, I haven't forgotten what you did for me and my family. But believe me when I tell you this, that's the _only_ reason you two are still breathing right now.” His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Look man,” Dean started, holding his hand up.

“No, _you_ look,” Jesse cut him off. “Guys, you had your chance. There's another way. Sorry, but you're out of the loop now. Please, take my advice, stay out of our way.”

“Who the hell is 'we', Jesse?” Dean asked, watching him carefully. “And what's with the symbol they're wearing?”

Jesse sighed, his shoulders slumping. “The symbol is who 'we' are. That's all you get to know. 'We' are what's going to bring balance back, Dean. 'We' are what's going to keep good and evil in check, balanced against each other. Not Castiel and Crowley, guys. Sorry. They aren't up for the job, no matter what the Prophet said.” Sam and Dean exchanged surprised glances.

“Yeah,” Jesse continued.” 'We' know about them also. And about Chuck Shurley's prophecy. And it's just...it's just not good enough. 'We' are.”

“Who's 'we', Jesse?”, Dean asked again, his voice rising.

“We're the Heralds, Dean,” Jesse answered. “The Heralds of the new world. Now, for your own good, go home.”

There was an imperceptible shift and Sam and Dean took an off-balanced step to steady themselves. They looked around slowly. They were back in the Bunker.

Dean looked at Sam and then reached into his pocket and fished out his smartphone. He dialed a number and quickly held it up to his ear.

“Yeah, Cas? We're back at the Bunker. Yeah. Yeah,” he said nodding. “What do I think? I think this is going to be harder than we figured. Come get us....oh, but first, go make sure Baby isn't getting towed.”


	5. We've Gotta Talk

# We've Gotta Talk

Dean stormed into the meeting room at Crowley's office in Atlanta and began pacing furiously. Crowley watched him patiently, eyebrows raised, waiting for Dean to go ahead and start venting.

Finally Dean stopped and pointed a finger at Crowley.

“I swear to God, if they even  _scratched_ her bumper.....”

Crowley smirked and swung his legs down from the table. He pushed himself up out of his chair and walked over to Dean, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Now, now, Dean, nothing a little primer won't fix. But really, you know what I think?”, Crowley asked, moving past Dean and turning around at the door.

“I can't wait to hear it,” Dean grumbled.

Crowley's smile widened as he tucked his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor before looking back up at Dean.

“I think that the reason you're all pushed out of shape has less to do with that unhealthy relationship you have with your car, and more to do with the fact that you got owned back there in Mississippi.”

Dean moved menacingly around the chair that he had been standing behind to stand face to face with Crowley.

“And what'dya mean by that?”, he growled.

Crowley shrugged. “Nothing, really. I just think that all that time that you spend polishing that car and rubbing it down, 'tuning it's engine'....”

Dean moved a step closer, his face turning red.

“You know what I mean, Crowley,” he said evenly. “What do you mean by 'we got owned'?”

Crowley let out a long sigh, turning away, hands still in his pockets.

“It's just that, here we are, the Winchester Calvary gets called in to bail out poor little...what was it... ' _B-Team_ ', I believe you called us.....and you get sent packing in the blink of an eye.”

A sarcastic smile curled on Dean's lips.

“Yeah, pal, well, I'd like to see how you do one-on-one with 'ol Jesse there. Willing to bet there'd be nothing left but a steaming pile.”

Crowley grinned. “Oh, don't be so sure. We've ran into him once. And while, yes, his powers are impressive, they are hardly what I'd call up to par for blinking me out of existence on a whim.”

Dean cocked his head. “You sure about that? Cause I wouldn't mind seeing that showdown myself.”

“Tsk, tsk, manners, Squirrel, manners,” Crowley said, putting his hands on the meeting table. “But, yes, I'm sure. You see, a cambion like Jesse there only gets more powerful when Lucifer is walking the earth. Now, when that happens, I wouldn't want to be on the same _planet_ as that little wanker. But, seeing as how 'ol Lucy is all back in his cage there, that won't be a problem.”

Dean squinted. “When's the last time you checked on that?”

Crowley smiled, pushing a button on a remote. The Big Board came down and Crowley navigated to a video feed. On the screen several demons were seen monitoring a fluctuating energy field in the shape of a swirl of blood. Dean involuntarily shivered. He'd once seen Lucifer rise from that very spot.

“I can check on that every minute of every day, if I need to,” Crowley said wryly.”That's one of the other advantages of having a Big Board.”

Dean grunted, looking closely at the video feed. “Sure he's actually still in there?”

Crowley shrugged. “Positive. Energy levels like his literally tend to bend time and space. We can monitor that. Any fluctuation whatsoever and we get an alarm. A really, _really_ loud one.” He squinted at the screen again and turned to Dean. “Say, now that we have a little time to chat, mind filling me in on the details of what happened there? As you recall, I was...incarcerated at the time. And getting details out of Castiel is...well, do I really need to explain that any further?”

Dean shrugged, nodding. “No, not really. Well, you do know about The Darkness getting released, right?”

Crowley nodded, “Yes, and  _top_ marks for that, by the way...”

“Do you wanna hear this or not?”, Dean asked impatiently. Crowley smiled back sarcastically, but held out his hand palm up for Dean to continue.

“Well, obviously, all hell broke loose,” Dean continued, pacing around the table. “Cas was being controlled by Rowena, with specific orders to mutilate you, and we were stuck in the middle of a gigantic hurricane of big-bad Darkness.”

Crowley nodded. “Shortly after that, my mother set her plan in action for removing me from power, and had me locked away. You all thought I was dead, so no rescue....not that I would have really expected one,“ he smirked. ”So, I missed the rest.”

Dean crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, not much left to tell. Turns out, the only thing in the universe powerful enough to drive The Darkness back is Lucifer, the 'Lightbringer'.”

Crowley nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, so, we had to let him out, but you know that part,” Dean continued.

Crowley frowned. “What about the risk to dear old Moose? Wouldn't Lucifer's release have meant that he took control of his old vessel again?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, that was pretty strange. Apparently, somehow the effect was, that when Death restored Sam's soul, it broke the bond. Besides, Lucifer told us he didn't want Sam anymore anyway.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “How so? He'd need a vessel to maintain his form.”

Dean nodded. “He figured out a few new tricks, apparently. He was more powerful. More balanced.”

“ _More_ powerful?”, Crowley asked, eyes widening. He balanced himself on the table. “Well, now that's just what the universe needed. How much more powerful?”

Dean winced. “Double. He kinda...um...well,  _ate_ Micheal.”

Crowley sat down heavily in a chair. “He...he  _what_ ?”, he finally asked, dumbfounded.

Dean nodded knowingly. “Yeah, right? Well, they had been stuck in the Pit for so long, waging this eternal war. There was no give, and they could never stop fighting. So Lucifer finally set a trap for him. A promise of a truce or something. Micheal bought it, and Lucifer absorbed him.”

Crowley rubbed his temples. “So...well...Michael's dead? That's....well...that's....” He slammed a fist on the table and stood up suddenly. “That's bloody impossible, Dean! Micheal is the sword of God himself! He's a celestial power! There is no  _possible way_ for Lucifer to destroy him like that!”

Dean shrugged. “Don't kill the messenger, Crowley. That's how it went down.” Crowley sat back down, rubbing his chin and shaking his head, slack-jawed.

Dean sighed. “Anyway, after that, we had to make sure The Darkness stayed locked away, so we figured out how to put the Mark back on Cain.”

“Whom you hadn't  _actually_ killed, yes, I remember that part...again, top marks....”, Crowley muttered.

Dean looked at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, that worked out for the best, now, didn't it?” he asked rhetorically. Crowley shrugged in mock surrender. Dean nodded. “Anyway, Darkness sealed away. Mark of Cain back where it belonged. Only problem left was putting Lucy back in the Cage.”

“Which I helped you do, thanks,” Crowley finished, standing up. “Thanks for clearing that up.” He paced a couple of steps away from Dean, shaking his head. “How is it that you Winchesters haven't destroyed the whole of existence ten times over with all of your shenanigans, I'll never figure...”, he groused to himself.

Dean glared. “Hey, we do our best, Crowley. It ain't always smooth, but the world keeps spinning, you know?”

Crowley gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Fine, We're all 'still spinning', as you say. But we're still back to your original question.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know. If Lucifer is locked away, then where's Jesse getting his juice from?”

Crowley smiled. “Ask your Angel.” His eyes flicked to behind Dean.

Dean sighed deeply, eyes closing. “Caaaaaasss,” he said exasperated, his irritation pouring out of him.

Castiel moved out from behind Dean, looking embarrassed.

“I'm...I'm sorry. I have no idea why I keep forgetting not to do that,” Castiel said. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean smiled tightly. “OK, so, obviously, you've been listening in. Got any answers for me? If Lucifer's locked up, where is Armageddon-boy getting his power from?”

Castiel reached into his trenchcoat and pulled out a folder, opening it on the table. Dean and he leaned over as Castiel moved some of the papers aside.

“Should we wait for Sammy for this?”, Dean said, examining a photograph of a sweater with the Shield of Heaven crest on it.

Castiel shook his head. “We can brief him when he's back from the impound yard.”

Dean groaned.

“Oh...sorry. Again,” Castiel muttered.

“I just don't see why I couldn't be the one to go pick her up,” Dean muttered.

“Because I am not sure they set bail for assault on police in Jackson, Mississippi, Dean,” Crowley offered. “And let's face it, the chances of you  _not_ punching at least one of the police officers that towed your 'Baby' are about zero.”

Dean looked up from the photo that he was holding and shot Crowley a look. “Yeah, probably the right call on that one,” he capitulated under his breath, turning back to the folder. “Ok, so, what're we lookin' at?”, he asked Castiel, moving a couple of more photos aside, some showing close-ups of the crest, others pictures of the devout that had had it tattooed on their arms.

Castiel pointed at one of the close-ups as Crowley moved closer to watch as well.

“Do you see this vine-like thing here?”, Castiel asked, his finger tracing along the line wrapping itself around the inverted cross. “Look closer.”

They all leaned in at where Castiel's finger had stopped at the very end of the line, where it appeared to form a head. Dean leaned closer. “Is that a....”

Castiel nodded. “It's a tongue.” He shifted through the close-ups to another, more detailed area. “More specifically, a forked tongue.”

Dean gave a low whistle. “So, that's a frikkin' _snake_ winding around an inverted cross?” His eyebrows raised and he gave his head a slight shake. “Satanic, much?”

Castiel nodded grimly. “Actually, it's a misnomer to confuse the serpent with Lucifer. It's the whole Garden incident....”, Castiel explained. He looked up at Crowley and Dean, who were watching him with blank expressions.

Castiel sighed. “Oh, yes , sorry. Another secret of Heaven, I'm afraid.”

Crowley grimaced. “And you angels say we demons are deceptive...”

Castiel bristled. “Yes...well...as it goes, you all know the story of that Serpent in the Garden and the temptation of Eve, obviously.” Dean and Crowley both nodded. “Well, if you notice, the Serpent is never mentioned by name. In the Bible, which is mostly coded, that's a pretty significant hint.”

Crowley grimaced. “To what?”

“That is was someone or _something_ else,” Castiel said. “This symbol of a Serpent wrapped around an inverted cross....this could indicate an ancient Evil older than even Lucifer. Something that in Heaven's lore is referred to as “The Great Dragon”, or even “The Orginal Evil.” He paused, shoulders slumping. “Basically, the Enemy that is God's opposite. Equal in power, and constantly working to unravel God's plans.”

Dean's eyes went wide. “Equal to.... _God_ ? God??!!” He wiped a palm over his face and retreated a few steps. “Oh...oh that's just  _great_ .” He squinted at Castiel and Crowley, who were watching him intently. “So, how in the hell are we supposed to fight  _that_ ?”

Castiel grimaced. “It's a symbol, Dean. And the Serpent never works directly. It influences others. We don't actually have to fight it. Just his servants.”

Dean nodded. “And how many is that now? How many people have that thing tattooed on them?”

At that Crowley looked up at Dean sharply, the blood draining from his face as a realization came to him. He turned his head slowly towards Castiel, whose mouth had opened slightly, his head cocked to the side, the same realization entering his mind. “Oh no....”, Castiel began.

“That's bloody it, then, isn't it?” Crowley whispered. “That's what this bloody crest is. And that's how Jesse is getting his power.”

Castiel slumped and sat down heavily in a chair, he rubbed his hand over his eyes and shook his head slowly.

“What?”, Dean asked. “What'd I say? Someone mind explaining this to me?”

Crowley straightened up and moved to the Big Board. He pressed a few buttons on the remote and a counter display came up. It stated '1,250,254' and was steadily rising. Crowley moaned, whispering under his breath, “Oh, that's really not good...”

“That number there,” he said, pointing at the screen. “Just as a precaution, we've actually been actively monitoring approximately how many people were accepting this 'Shield of Heaven' mark. No way to know for sure, we just track new sightings of it during Pastor Wald's broadcasts. Anyway it's growing...” he said ominously, looking at Castiel, who was watching the number as well, his eyes narrowing.

Dean shook his head. “So, what does this have to do with Jesse?”, he asked.

“Everything,” Castiel said, rising. “You see, Dean, it says so in the Bible. In Revelations. Lucifer is not the only way that the Antichrist can gain power. They're using him and that symbol to get around that.”

“What is it, Cas?,” Dean asked, his voice lowering. “What is that symbol?”

Castiel lowered his head. “It's the Mark of the Beast,” he said quietly. “We're all going to die.”


	6. New Strategy

# New Strategy

Sam got back to Crowley's office eight hours later. Dean was sitting alone in the conference room with Castiel, a half-empty bottle of whiskey between the two of them. Castiel slumped in his chair, Dean glared intently at the table. Crowley was nowhere to be seen, but the Big Board had a number on it, '2,125,544', and it was constantly rising. Dean glanced up at Sam and then at the board. He grunted and poured himself another shot.

“S'up, Sammy,” he slurred.” Come to join our End-of-the-World party?”

Sam raised his eyebrows and moved slowly into the room. He eyed Dean warily and met Castiel's eyes, who glanced at the number on the screen and groaned loudly, rubbing his head.

“What is this?” Sam asked angrily. “This is how we respond to this? Give up?” He moved quickly to the table and capped the whiskey bottle. With a shove he slid it to the end, where it teetered precariously on the edge for a few seconds before settling. Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Open for suggestions, Sammy. Cas?” He slammed down his shot and and looked up at Castiel. “You wanna explain it to him?”

“It's all in Revelations,” Castiel grunted. “You know it. I'm guessing.” He waved his hand lazily in the air. “Once Jesse has enough power, he can basically claim any power that he wants. He'll probably turn us all into action figures...or something.” He buried his head in his arm on the table.

Sam squinted. “I thought Cas had his full Angel powers back, Dean? How much did you give him to drink anyway?”

Dean grunted and pointed in the corner of the conference room. There were several empty bottles stacked there in the corner. Sam shook his head.

“Seriously? And getting drunk is the big plan?” He glared at Dean.

Dean looked up, eyebrows raised. “Ok, Sammy, no. We actually did plan for about four or five hours. Then, when we figured out we had no frikkin way, or willpower, to _kill_ two-million or so people, we kinda reached this point.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he poured another shot. “Oh, add to that the fact that anyone getting anywhere near Jesse himself is beamed away to wherever he feels like, that makes stopping him a little tricky also. So, Sammy, if you have any brilliant plans, feel free to share, cause we're all out of 'em here.”

Sam glared at Dean and looked around. “Where's Crowley?”

Dean shrugged. “Said something about a 'bug-out bag' and Tahiti. Haven't seen him since.”

Sam sat down in one of the conference chairs heavily. He rubbed his temples. “So, that's it? We give up? Dean, when have we ever...?”

“Never, Sammy, Ok? Never!! We never frikkin' give up,” Dean shouted. “Look, you're the 'Man of Letters' here, so, if you've got something, _anything_ , please, I'm begging you, a little help here would be much appreciated, you know?”

Sam sighed heavily and looked up at the Big Board, watching the numbers continue to grow. He scratched his head and breathed heavily. “Castiel, do you have maybe any idea how many followers Jesse has to have before he reaches full strength?”

Castiel looked up and frowned. “Not really. He's already extremely powerful. The Bible does mention something about 666 being the number of the Beast, so I'm guessing some numerical derivative of that.”

Sam squinted at the screen again, standing up. “So, six-million, six-hundred sixty-six thousand?”

Castiel shrugged. “Or a percentage of the local population, 66.6%, for example.”

Sam's gaze narrowed even further. “Or, it's something else....”

He grabbed the remote for the Big Board and navigated to a main menu. From there he pulled up the ratings chart for Pastor Wald's show for the month. He moved around the table, closer to the screen.

“Maybe it's not people at all. Maybe it's....”, Sam started.

“..an audience,” Dean finished, eyes widening, standing up. “The ratings share....”

Sam pointed excitedly at the screen. “See? It's climbing higher and higher, 14 share, 25 share, 41, 47...when's his next show?” He pressed a few more buttons and a TV schedule came up. “Tomorrow night. Wait, why's it highlighted in red?” He pressed the button and a commercial began to play for Pastor Wald's 'Power Hour'.

“Friends, we have all seen the signs,” came Pastor's Wald's voice in the background. A picture of his auditorium with multi-colored shifting lights played on the screen. “The Devil himself walks among us,” the voice continued. “But we have found the answer. The true power to keep the Devil at bay. The Shield of Heaven.” A bright and shining graphic of the crest appeared on screen. “Everywhere that the Faithful have accepted the Shield into their hearts, the disasters and the signs have been held at bay. Miracle after miracle. In St. Louis, the riots stopped overnight.” The screen began to fade from a burned out disaster area, to friends laughing and joking in a tranquil park. “In Vancouver, the volcanos actually stopped erupting, my friends. The plague of locusts over Kansas-gone. And many, many, more.” The images shifted from city to city, showing the disasters being reversed. “Miracle after miracle after miracle. It is the Shield of Heaven itself, my friends. Heaven is watching over us. And it is Heaven that will beat the Devil down. So please, tune in tomorrow night at 8 pm eastern standard time, for our Power Hour world wide network debut. There, I, Pastor Wald, will share with you personally the secret of how to bring the Shield of Heaven to your own town. And with doing that, save it from the coming doom. I pray to see you there, friends.” With that, the commercial ended and Sam put down the remote.

“Look there, at the broadcast signal,” he said quietly.

Dean squinted. “Bunch of numbers, “ he muttered.

“Exactly,” Sam breathed. “A bunch of numbers _exactly_ divisible into 66.6% of the world viewers with television and network access. A 66.6 share.”

Castiel was sitting up alertly now, all signs of his intoxication gone. “So, we don't have to stop Jesse or his worshippers....”

Sam shook his head. “Nope. We have to stop that broadcast.” He nodded at Dean. I'm going to get some gear from the car.”

Dean squinted. “What for?”

Sam shrugged. “Summoning,” he replied simply.

***

A few minutes later, Sam finished his incantation over the golden bowl, and a very confused and startled Crowley wearing a straw hat, flowered shirt, board shorts and sandals appeared in the conference room. He lowered his sunglasses, obviously perturbed.

“Moose?”, he asked, taking a sip from a blue drink with an umbrella in it. “What in the hell did you bring me back here for?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, sorry to cut the vacay short here, Crowley, but we have work to do.”

Crowley squinted at him. “What work? They won, right? Their team has the best player in the universe on it, and he's about to be fully charged. What's there left to do?”

Dean walked over and took the drink and hat from Crowley, who glared at him in annoyance in return. “Sammy figured out the real game.”

Crowley shook his head in bemusement. “What real game?”

Sam pointed at the Big Board. “It's his broadcast, Crowley. That's why they targeted a TV show in the first place. It isn't the first group of followers. It's the market share. Once they reach a 66.6% share, then everyone watching gets converted. There's where Jesse is going to get supercharged.”

Crowley stared at the Big Board and rubbed his chin. “'I'll be damned....” he mumbled. “Nice work, Moose. I am _actually_ impressed.” He ran his hands over his clothes and they instantly changed into a black three piece suit with a red tie. “So, we have a TV show to shut down. Now _that_ , I can do something about.”

Sam smiled. “Good. But let's not stop there. Let's hit them at the source before they just pull the same trick again. You said before you had a lead on Raguel's whereabouts, right?”

“Yeeesss,” Crowley answered slowly.

“Good. Let's get that bastard. Time to take the fight to them.”

***

A few hours later, the four of them were in a private jet heading for Mississippi. Crowley was still barking orders on his phone to Justin, Dean and Castiel were already buckled in. Dean had an ice pack over his head, and Castiel looked confused.

“What's up Cas?”, Dean moaned, noticing Castiel glancing around.”You look lost.”

“Actually, I think this is my first time in an airplane,” Castiel replied.”You know, angels don't really require the need for them....”

Dean smiled. “Nervous?”

Castiel gave an audible gulp before straightening out his tie and leaning back stiffly. “No. Of course not. You?”

Dean smiled again, closing his eyes. “Every time, Cas. But believe me, my head is a great distraction from that right this second.”

Sam was sitting over with Crowley, who hung up with Justin. “So, that's that. Everything is in place,” he grunted, tucking his cell phone back in his jacket.

Sam nodded. “So, what's first?”

Crowley nodded. “First, we try once more to get a one-on-one with the ringleader of this little circus, Pastor Wald. If we can 'convince' him to call off his little sermon, this whole plan of theirs goes up in smoke. The advantage is ours. Our opponents have no idea right now that we're on to them, so we can go right to the head of the snake, so to say.”

“And if we can't?”, Sam asked cautiously.

Crowley shrugged. “I have....other means of persuasion,” he replied dryly. He caught Sam's disapproving gaze and held up a hand. “No torture, Moose, I promise. If we can't convince him, we have back up plans.”

“Like what?”, Sam asked.

“A physical attack on the broadcast itself, “ Crowley answered. “Even an EMP if I need to. But I doubt it will come to that. One way or another, this show is _not_ going on.”

Sam nodded. “And what's the 411 on Raguel?”

Crowley looked out of the airplane window as they began to ascend. There was a simultaneous groan from Dean and Castiel from the back seats as they picked up speed.

“We know where he is. And oh, yes, he's been an active little bugger lately,” Crowley replied.

“How so?”, Sam asked.

“Moving about quite a bit,” Crowley said, reaching into a satchel by his side and pulling out a piece of paper. “Keeps popping up in all the _strangest_ places, don't you think?”, he asked, handing the paper over to Sam, who took it and read it, his eyebrows raising.

“But that's....” Sam muttered.

“Yep. Quite damning evidence, if I do say so myself,” Crowley said, leaning back. “New Orleans, Baltimore, and now in Jackson, Mississippi. Quite the itinerary.”

Sam nodded and handed the paper back to Crowley. “And his partner? Any clues?”

Crowley shook his head. “Not a one. But believe me, Moose, once I get a hold of old Raguel here, I have no qualms whatsoever on using a few of my more....creative talents on him. We'll have the name by morning.”

Sam swallowed hard and leaned back himself. He shook his head slowly.

“I dunno, Crowley. Something feels, _off_ about all of this.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, well, apocalypses tend to have that effect.”

“No, seriously,” Sam replied. “It feels like we're chasing at shadows. The closer we get, the more they turn into smoke and mirrors.”

Crowley turned and cocked his head to the side. “You think we're getting played somehow?”

Sam turned away. “I don't know. God knows Dean and I have got played plenty of times in the cosmic chess game. I just hope this isn't history repeating itself is all.”

Crowley leaned forward, looking at Sam seriously.

“Look, Sam,” he said. “I don't like this either. And the sooner I get some concrete answers as to whose pulling the strings here, the better. Because, no offense intended, getting one over on Moose and Squirrel is one thing, but nobody, and I mean, nobody gets one over on old Crowley here.”

 


	7. The Show Can't Go On

# The Show Can't Go On

The plane landed and Crowley's crew immediately began unloading several boxes of equipment. Crowley was busy as well issuing orders on his cell, the bustle of activity increasing the more that he shouted. He gave an exasperated sigh and hung up as Dean and Castiel came walking up.

“I hope they get that straight,” he grunted. “It would be really embarrassing if we mistakenly send a truckful of hacking and electronic equipment directly to the network station. Might tip them off a bit.”

Dean shrugged. “Ask me, it's a pretty sweet setup. You give a few orders and the worker bees do all the heavy lifting.”

Crowley looked around and gave Dean a pained expression. “Yeah, well, that's the trouble with minions, you know?” He looked around conspiratorially and crooked his finger for Dean to come closer. “The real truth is,” Crowley started whispering as Dean got in range, “they'll do their appointed tasks as long I'm watching carefully. _Very_ carefully.” At this he pointed secretly at one of the demons unloading crates. “Take Vincent there, for example. Now, Vincent will do his job, but the very _second_ that I take my watchful gaze off of him, he will, quite literally, do whatever it takes to 'move up the corporate ladder', so to say. Which means up to and including driving a sharp and pointy dagger into his nearest superiors' back. My own included.” He smiled genially at Vincent, who smiled back and returned to his work. Crowley rolled his eyes back at Dean. “Now, tell me, does that sound like a 'sweet setup' to you?”

Castiel grimaced. “Demons. What did you expect, Crowley?”

Crowley frowned and shot Castiel a pained expression. “Ah yes”, he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Because Angels are so renowned for their loyalty and lack of ambition. Do recall, there choir-boy, it was one of _your_ kind that created us Demons in the first place.”

Castiel looked away. “There are always...exceptions, Crowley,” he answered.

Crowley smiled tightly. “With Demons as well, Castiel. Justin, for example. You've met him, right?” he asked, looking at Dean, who nodded silently in agreement. “Now Justin is more than happy to stay put and follow his orders. Very _angelic_ of him, you could say.” Castiel glared. Crowley held up a palm and shook his head. “Now, now Castiel, I'm not trying to take the steam out of you, I promise. Just don't dismiss us 'Demons' so quickly next time. That's all I'm asking.”

Castiel stared at him for a few seconds and finally nodded back. “I'll.. ..consider it,” he grumbled and walked away.

Dean's raised his eyebrows, forehead crinkling. “Little harsh on the Angel, there, Crowley, don'tcha think?” he asked quietly.

Crowley let out a puff of air. “Yeah, well, you know how we Demons love to go on and on, Squirrel. It comes from being looked down upon so much, you know. It's like everyone believes that all we are capable of is mayhem and destruction.”

Dean squinted doubtfully at him. “Isn't that actually true?”

Crowley smiled back. “Mostly, yes. Point taken.” He sighed and moved over to a group of Demons that were standing around under the plane. He began angrily gesturing at some boxes that hadn't been unloaded yet, and they sprang into action. Sam walked out of the plane towards Dean, looking around at the busy tarmac.

“Everything OK?” he asked as he came strolling up. Dean was watching Castiel , who had moved over to help load a utility van.

Dean looked up at Sam. “Yeah, I guess so,” he answered, combing his hand over head. “Just....you know, a lot is riding on those two.”

Sam nodded. “I know. Chuck's prophecy. They have to stop the entire universe from being taken away from God. Pretty big ask.” He looked at Dean questioningly. “You think they can't do it?”

Dean sighed. “Dunno, Sammy. I just get the feeling that they'd rather be on separate sides of the planet rather than having to work together. It feels pretty toxic.”

Sam smiled and clapped Dean on his shoulder. “Yeah, but you could say the same thing about us, and that never stopped us.”

Dean smiled tightly back. “Yeah, well, maybe that wasn't always for the best, you know? How many times did we unleash the Apocalypse again?”

Sam frowned. “Seriously, are we going to have this discussion again?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, I know. It would've been a hell of lot worse if we never tried. I know that. Maybe it's just that....I know where our heads are at. I mean, I _know_ what our intentions are. Cas....I know he does his best to do the right thing too. Crowley, though.....and the two of them together....”

Sam nodded slowly. “I know, Dean. But, this time we have no choice. Chuck said so. We take over and try to fix this ourselves, and the bad guys win.”

Dean smiled thinly. “In Chuck we trust, huh?”

Sam smiled back and turned towards Crowley, who was walking over.

“All ready, boys?” Crowley asked, watching them. “Or are you formulating a new plan right now as I speak?”

Sam shook his head. “No, Crowley, it's your party. Tell us where you need us.”

Crowley watched him for a second before giving a slight nod. “Allright then. Get in the van with Castiel. If I need you for Plan B, I'll call you.” Sam and Dean nodded in agreement. Crowley nodded back. “Now then, it's time to get this show on the road.”

***

Pastor Wald nodded in approval as his wife brought the steaming plate to the table in his plush dining room. He licked his lips at the sight of the juicy steak with mushroom sauce and potatoes. He eyed the vegetables in the corner of the plate warily, already making plans to push them even further into that corner.

He cut into his steak and took a bite, chewing slowly.

“Miriam,” he exclaimed in satisfaction, “this time you have _truly_ outdone yourself. Thank you, honey-bunch.” He looked up at his wife sitting across from him at the table and frowned. She had a half-smile on her face and seemed to be in the middle of taking up a forkful of vegetables. But...she seemed to have stopped right there, not moving an inch.

“Miriam?”, Pastor Wald asked, concerned. He rose out of his chair and moved over to her. She didn't answer, remaining frozen. He studied her face, watching for a sign of movement. She didn't even seem to breathe. He straightened up and wiped his face, noting the sweat that had begun to bead up on his forehead. He waved his hand rapidly in front of her eyes and took a step back when she didn't respond, placing his hand over his mouth. He looked around, panic rising in him. This had all the signs of having something to do with that Jesse Turner character. Strange things always seemed to happen whenever that little creep was around. He began to move around the table and noticed that the candle on the table had also stopped flickering. He bent closer, studying the still flame.

“Bit unnerving, isn't it?” came a voice from behind him that caused Pastor Wald to jump. A bearded man in a business suit was standing right behind him, also bent over and looking at the candle. He straightened up in mock surprise as Pastor Wald jumped and moved away from him.

“Some might call this the epitome of marital bliss, my good Pastor,” the man continued, putting his hands in his pockets and pacing slowly around the table. “Maybe you should be thanking me.”

Pastor Wald sat down heavily in his chair, sweat now pouring off of his reddened forehead. “What the hell you want...?” he finally stammered out. “Are you another friend of that angel or somethin'? Tell that SOB that I did everything he asked of me. Everything! Now, leave me the hell alone!”

The other man raised his eyebrows in response and sat down in an empty chair in the middle of the table. He propped his feet up rudely right on it and smiled evilly.

“Angel, huh?” he said finally, mock concern dripping from his voice. “Nothing in the world like Angel trouble, my good Pastor, _believe_ me, I know.” He held a hand over his heart in feigned pain and leaned forward a bit. “But no, I'm no friend of that Angel any more than you are. I'm here to actually help you out.”

Pastor Wald's brow furrowed. “Help me...how?” He seemed to consider it for a few seconds before holding up his hands.”No, you know what? I don't want no trouble with that little shit. Go on, get the hell out of here....”

The man swung his legs down and stood up, placing both hands on the table and leaned towards Pastor Wald.

“Should I just leave you here then with your little wax museum?” he asked, looking back at Miriam and around the still room. He stood up and shrugged. “Have it your way, then. Do have fun. It should wear off, I suppose...in a few _thousand_ years or so....”

Pastor Wald looked around the room and sprang up from his chair. “Wait...wait!”, he squealed. The man paused and smiled, looking back. Pastor Wald sat back down, sighing. “What...what can you do about them?”

The man sat back down and made a show of straightening the table cloth in front of him. “See? That's much better,” he said, looking up at Pastor Wald. “Nothing like a little fear motivation to get things moving along. And I've always found, that there is nothing more frightening than an eternity of...well...nothingness.”

Pastor Wald gulped heavily. “You gonna let me go then?”

The man steepled his fingers and leaned back. “Now, that is the 66 million dollar question, Pastor, isn't it?” he asked rhetorically. “That, actually, really all depends on if you are willing to hear me out or not.”

Pastor Wald looked around again and nodded vigorously. “Fine, say our piece, just let me go...”

The man smiled in triumph. “Good. Now that the preliminaries are over, let's get to the meat of the matter, if you don't mind?” he asked, sliding Miriam's plate over to himself and cutting himself a piece of steak. He raised the fork to his mouth and closed his eyes. “Amazing, Pastor. Compliments, truly.” He put down the utensils and met the Pastors' eyes. “My name, Pastor Wald, is Crowley. To make things quite clear, I'm a lot more powerful and potentially dangerous than your Angel friend. But that's just to help you keep things in perspective here and with your final decision.” He shrugged. “I understand that you're a man at the center of a hurricane, Pastor Wald. One that you never asked for. I can help move that particular storm along for you, so to say.”

Pastor Wald squinted at him. “How you plannin' on doing that?” he asked softly.

Crowley grinned. “I have a speech here, written for your sermon tomorrow night. My own rewrites, you could say. A much more truthful spin on recent events.” He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. He opened it and slid it across the table to Pastor Wald, who took in up gently and began reading it. He began to turn white as he mouthed the words. A few minutes later he placed the speech back down on the table carefully, his hands shaking.

“Jesus...I mean, I had an idea...but....” he whispered.

Crowley nodded. “Yep. A lot to fathom, I gather. But that's the real deal, Pastor. That crest is the Mark of the Beast. And you are helping them destroy the world with it right now.”

Pastor Wald groaned. “I....I...can't _read_ that,” he stammered out finally. “Do you have any idea what they'd do to me if I read that?”

Crowley nodded. “My good man, not much at all. Revealing the Mark for what it truly is will cut off Jesse from it's full power. And if the ratings never reach the goal they have in mind, they can't infect anyone else. We'll keep you safe, Pastor, on this you have my word.”

Pastor Wald looked down at the speech on the table and picked it up again, his hands steadying. He looked up seriously at Crowley again, who was watching him closely. He began to nod in agreement.

“And you said you can protect me?” he asked finally.

Crowley nodded. “Absolutely, Pastor. I guarantee it.”

There was a sudden rush of hot wind that blew out the stilled candles in the room and rattled the windows.

“And how do you propose to do that, Crowley, if you can't even protect yourself?” came a voice from the corner of the dining room as a teenager with blazing white eyes walked out of the shadows.

Crowley stood up quickly, moving in front of Pastor Wald, who had let out a small cry and stood up. Crowley held out a protective arm in front of him.

“Well well, well,” Crowley growled. “Drew out one of the lions then, didn't I? I must admit, it had crossed my mind that that could happen, but I wasn't really counting on it.”

The angel stepped forward menacingly. He sneered at Crowley. “What did you think, filth? That I wasn't going to keep a close eye on my investment here? That I would just let you twist and corrupt him against my will without stopping you?”

Crowley shrugged. “No, not really. Like I said, I wasn't _counting_ on it, but that surely does _not_ mean that I wasn't prepared for it.” At that, a long, silver blade slid from his jacket sleeve. Crowley's eyes blazed briefly red.

The angel looked down warily at the blade and hesitated, taking a small step back.

The angel shook his head. “Doesn't matter, Demon,” he growled. “I'm still going to rip you into shreds. And after that, that little speech of yours. That is never going to be read. Jesse is going to get his power, and there's nothing that you can do to stop it.”

“Bring it,” Crowley replied simply, the angel blade coming up in his hand. With his free hand, he edged Pastor Wald back towards the entrance to the dining room.

The angel shook his head. “Have it your way, Crowley.” He raised an angel blade of his own and jumped onto the table, moving slowly across it towards them.

As the angel approached, Crowley caught a sudden movement from the entrance behind him. He quickly spun to the side as a blast of energy came from behind him and hit the table full force, blasting it into splinters. The angel tumbled to the ground in the wreckage, a cry of rage escaping his lips. Crowley stared up at the new threat. Jesse Turner was standing there, his hand smoking, a look of astonishment on his face. Crowley grabbed Pastor Wald's arm and dragged the large man to his feet. He let go and they both rushed past Jesse. Crowley fumbled for his cell phone with his free hand and speed dialed the van.

They were running down the hall, the sound of pursuit behind them as the other line picked up.

“Moose?,” Crowley yelled into the line as another blast of energy smashed into a light fixture over their heads, erupting in a wall of sparks and fire. “Plan B, Moose! Yes, I said 'Plan B'! It's gone more than a little sideways here....” he continued, dragging Pastor Wald into a guest room and slamming the door behind him.

Pastor Wald looked around nervously. “We're trapped here!”, he screamed. “They're coming!”

Crowley smiled calmly, hanging up his cell. “Looks that way Pastor. I am  _truly_ sorry. Best laid plans and all. My suggestion? Play nice with them. They still actually  _need_ you. As for me,” he leaned in conspiratorially. ”I'm afraid I must away, my dear Pastor. Thanks for the talk. And the steak.”  
  


***  
  


Jesse blasted open the door and looked around the room. Pastor Wald was crouched down by a closet, shaking.

Jesse sighed and scanned the room for Crowley. No sign. The angel stood in the hallway behind him.

“Crowley?”, the angel asked. Jesse shook his head slowly. The angel sighed. “Fine, get  _that_ up”, he said pointing at Pastor Wald, “and take him to his office. Keep him safe until the sermon. I have a feeling that my brother and I need to find Crowley and his acquaintances post-haste. This 'Plan B' that he was screaming so loudly about is obviously some ill-conceived plan to sabotage the broadcast. We'll make sure that doesn't happen.”

Jesse nodded and the angel disappeared. He moved into the room and picked up Pastor Wald, looking into his eyes. The Pastor had them squeezed shut.

“Jesse?”, he asked meekly.

“Yes, it's me,” Jesse replied, sighing. The Pastor cautiously opened one eye and scanned the room. “The angel?”, he asked.

Jesse sighed loudly and began to walk Pastor Wald out of the house. “Going to go rip your new friends into little pieces, Pastor Wald”, he said angrily. “I sincerely hope that you see who the truly righteous are now, don't you? I mean, that was a Demon back there that you were about to make a deal with.”

The Pastor nodded quickly. “I know, Mr. Turner. Believe me, I know. Don't you worry now. I'll do the right thing.”

Jesse turned him around and studied him carefully. “You make sure that you do, Pastor Wald,” he said simply. “You make damned sure that you do.”

 


	8. Plan B....etc.

# Plan B….etc.

 

Sam turned off his smartphone and looked up at the waiting faces of Dean and Castiel in the van. He shook his head slightly. Castiel let out a breath in frustration.

"Well, isn’t that just great," Dean grumbled.

Sam shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. We all knew that there were at least a million things that could have gone wrong with Crowley’s plan. That Pastor was probably too scared to do it anyway. And we all figured on them keeping an eye on him."

Castiel stood up and turned towards the waiting team that Crowley had left with them. He nodded.

"Let’s get everything in place, then. It’s only a few hours until the broadcast, and we can’t let it go through", he ordered. The team exchanged glances and slowly got moving. A few of them remained seated. Castiel watched for a few seconds before exhaling loudly.

"Now," he growled. The team looked up as one, then started moving and picked up speed. Castiel opened the van door and stepped outside. Dean and Sam followed. It was parked in an open lot near the television studio. There were some booster satellites and power sheds nearby.

"Demons," Castiel said quietly, obvious disdain in his voice. He turned towards Dean. "I don’t trust them. It’s bad enough that I have to trust Crowley."

Dean gave a wan smile and looked back in the van. The team had started setting up equipment and running cables from it to a waiting satellite.

"I hear ya, Cas,” Dean answered. "Not much of a choice, though. He’s the salesman of the group, we’re the guys that shut things down if they get out of hand."

Sam was pressing buttons on his phone, and frowning.

"I can’t get him to answer, either. The signal’s lost." He looked up at Dean and Castiel. "Do you think maybe…?"

Castiel shrugged slightly and looked up at the sky. "He probably teleported away. Why he didn’t come to us, I have no idea."

Sam shook his head, looking back down at his phone. "That doesn’t explain why he isn’t answering us. I think maybe he got captured."

Dean crossed his arms. "Well, let’s assume the worst, then....it’s not like we ever get anything else....”, he murmured. “If they got him, he might let them know what we’re up to. That means we gotta be ready for some heavy duty whoop-ass heading our way."

Castiel nodded. "If it’s either the Demon or the Angel, try to stay out of the way. I’ll handle it."

Dean looked up, brow furrowing. "And if it’s both of them? Or Jesse? Or all three?"

Castiel met Dean’s eyes with a steady gaze.

"Then stay further back."

Dean crossed his arms and raised his chin in defiance. Castiel shook his head. "I seriously doubt that right now they’re going to leave Pastor Wald unguarded. My bet is that at least one of them is with him right now. If they've captured Crowley, then most likely two of them."

Sam nodded. "Makes sense. But listen, Cas. We’ve tangled with Angels and Demons before. Maybe we should be on standby with some devil’s traps and holy oil, just in case?"

Castiel considered for a second, and slowly nodded. "I’m…inclined to agree with your idea. But, truthfully, I’m, still not entirely certain what we’re dealing with here. All we’ve been doing lately is jumping to an awful lot of conclusions. We could be wrong about…well, everything. That miscalculation and lack of information could prove fatal. .I…we….need solid answers before I would risk open combat."

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. Sam shrugged. "Then we’ll also keep a close watch if something goes down, "he replied. "See if anything shows up that we recognize. We’ve been doing this awhile. Maybe there’s something there that we can do something about."

Castiel smiled. "Thank you Sam, but you aren’t considering the fact that I was a soldier of God for countless millennia. If there’s something there that I haven’t seen yet…." he finished by shaking his head.

Sam nodded. "I hear you, Castiel. But give us a shot, ok? It couldn’t hurt."

Castiel gave them both a worried look.

"I sincerely hope not,” he answered, turning back to supervise the Demons.

  
  


***

  
  


A short time later, they were ready. The van was set up to monitor the broadcast and interrupt the signal when the time came. The Demons had formed a perimeter around it, and had several scouts out in the surrounding area to warn of any approach. Castiel waited directly by the van, while Sam and Dan were out in the lot, checking and manning the defenses.

There was a crackle of sound as the show started, the organ music was starting up and Pastor Wald was heading onto the stage. One of the technicians pointed at the screen and called out to Castiel.

"We’ve got eyes on Jesse Turner. The camera caught a shot of him in the backstage area when the Pastor came out."

Castiel nodded and his shoulders visibly relaxed. Out of all of them, Jesse was the one that had given him the most cause for concern. The first encounter with him had always left him more than a little shaken. A cambrion of his power could literally rip Heaven apart. Castiel could not imagine a more dangerous opponent.

There was a shout of alarm from outside of the perimeter and Castiel looked up quickly, trying to pinpoint the location. A body came flying through the air from at least three-hundred meters away. It landed with a crash in the open lot and didn’t move. Castiel scanned the perimeter and moved away from the van, jaw set, angel’s blade in hand.

There was another cry, and a third. Bodies flew in from two different directions and landed with a sickening crunch on the ground. Castiel glared and nodded to himself in affirmation.  _Both of them, then_ , he thought.  _The Angel and the Demon_ .

In response to his thoughts, two figures came striding out into the dusky open, one to the right of the van, the other to the left, both still at least a hundred meters away. They moved steadily forward, and did not hurry. Castiel glanced back in the van. Pastor Wald was still acknowledging the crowd on the television, and waving at the cameras. They still had a bit of time.

"Really, Castiel?", the one to the right called out. "This is what you were trying to do? You really didn’t think that we would let this happen, did you?" Several Demons rushed to the figure, only to be immediately and violently flung away, a white light blazing.

Right on cue, there was a sharp, metallic rasp and the brief smell of butane in the air as Dean threw his lighter to the ground. Holy oil lit up in a wide circle around the figure. Dean stepped out from behind one of the equipment sheds and smiled sarcastically at the trapped figure.

"You’d be the Angel, then, right?" he smirked. "Thanks for the heads up, pal." The Angel glared back at him, white eyes blazing fire.

The second figure began to race forward, but a large figure in a blur of motion to it’s side ran straight into him, throwing a large white sheet over it, painted with a bright red devil's trap.

"Well, we know what that makes you, then", Sam said, breathing heavily from the effort. "Let’s make this a little more accessible, 'cause we need to talk." He walked over to the van and pulled out a tarp, which was also painted with a devil’s trap. He rolled it flat onto the ground, picked up the figure and dumped it in the center, removing the first sheet. The teen inside had blazing red eyes and black hair. He snarled at Sam, then, stopped , considering Sam like he recognized him. He stopped struggling, straightened up, and regarded Sam cooly, a crooked half-smile on his face.

Castiel strode forward to the burning circle and stared at the Angel trapped inside. It was a different teen than the one he had met at Leon’s house back in Baltimore. He frowned and looked over his shoulder at the Demon. It was also a different kid.

"Who are you?," he asked, puzzled. "The energy signature is the same, but your vessels are different." He squinted. "Raguel?", Castiel asked, uncertain.

The Angel cocked his head. "Raguel? I haven’t heard that name in…eons." He closed his eyes, shook his head and laughed softly. "Call me Raguel, then, if you want, Castiel. It doesn’t matter."

Castiel frowned and looked the teen up and down. "Why do you keep switching vessels?"

The Angel smiled and shrugged. "We’ve told you before Castiel. We’re something….different." His smile widened. His eyes flashed white, then  _red_ , then he tilted his head back and closed them, stepping  forward, crossing effortlessly over the border of the burning fire. Dean muttered a curse and rushed at him, but he was flung backwards with barely a touch. His still form lay prone in the dirt. Castiel’s eyes widened in shock. He spun towards the Demon, who was also walking out of the devil’s trap, eyes fixed on Castiel.

"Sam, no!" Castiel shouted, too late, as Sam crashed into the Demon from behind. The Demon didn’t budge, flinging Sam into the side of the van, hard. Sam’s form went limp and slumped down. The Demon looked at it for a second and smirked, shaking it’s head.

"Ah, the  _disappointmen_ t. Still living up to your potential, I see," it said softly. He turned his head and eyes slowly back to Castiel. They flashed red. "C’mon, Castiel. I hear you’ve leveled up. Let’s see what you got."

Castiel circled back to put his back to the van’s entrance, straining to hear the broadcast. Pastor Wald had begun to speak. He looked back just in time to see the Angel rip the array of cables free from the van’s attachments with one motion. He smiled at Castiel.

"Well, that takes care of that, " he jeered.

Castiel stared, mouth open. They needed to stop this, and immediately.

"The EMP!, Now!", Castiel shouted back into the van. When there was no response, he took his eyes off of the Angel and looked inside.

While Castiel had been watching the Angel dismantle the cable array, the Demon had materialized inside the van. The remains of the Demon technicians were dripping from every surface. Dripping off of the Demon as well. He smiled at Castiel and held up a red button fixed to a panel that dangled from a frayed, disconnected cord.

"You mean  _this_ , don’t you?", he smiled evilly, swinging the button from side to side. He let it drop with a clang to the van’s floor. Castiel groaned as something hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground. He looked up through a haze at the Demon, who was bent over looking at him, the smile still there. His eyes blazed red, then  _white_ . Castiel felt his eyes closing..... _what were they_ ....?

"You lose, Castiel. We win. Now….," he said, straightening up and clapping his hands together. "Let’s see what’s on TV.”

 


	9. Apocalypse, Interrupted

# Apocalypse, Interrupted

“Friends...the days that we have witnessed....some would call them the 'End of Times',” Pastor Wald recited, pausing for dramatic effect. It was a time-honored technique to draw the audience in and keep them hooked on every word. And he needed them hooked on every word that he had to say. He needed them to hear, and believe.

“I, however, would describe them as....well....a time to change. There was a song about that, I recall. Sung by a couple of those 'folk artists' back in the 60's. Now...friends, I won't be condoning what they were up to back then,” he smiled, holding up his hands in mock aplomb. There was a loud chuckle from the auditorium. “But, there was a modicum of wisdom in that song. Now, how did it go? Ah, yes....' _a time for love, a time for hate, a time of war, a time of peace_ ', and some other such flower power nonsense, you get the drift”, he laughed again, waving his hands. His audience laughed obediently and he nodded, bracing his hands on his podium, his face turning serious. “But there was another line in that song; ' _a time to build up, a time to break down_ ', now, you see? I think that's exactly what we're seeing right now, friends, and faithful followers. Things out there are _breaking down_ ,” he emphasized, leaning forward and gesturing behind him towards the outside world. “And that's where we need to build it back up. And there is a way to do it friends, I'm here to tell ya,” he smiled. He glanced up at the cameras and the dimmed faces of his live audience. There was also a counter placed within his viewing range. He had been instructed to keep watching it. The viewership was being actively monitored during this special broadcast, and his job was to reach 66.6% of the television audience. His brow broke out in a sweat, partially from the spotlights, and partially from the stress. The number was at sixty-four percent, and climbing.

***

“Well, all comfy? Who wants popcorn?”, the Demon smiled casually back in the van. Castiel had been dragged outside and put into the burning ring of holy oil. Sam and Dean had slowly regained consciousness and found that they had been tied down to the technician's chairs in front of the monitors. The Demon was leaning casually against one of the equipment tables, and the Angel was standing near the door of the van, keeping an eye on Castiel, and glancing in to monitor Pastor Wald's broadcast.

“No takers?”, the Demon put on a mock pout. “Geez, you guys are no fun. You'd think the world was ending or something....ooohp, wait...yeah, for you, it actually is!”, he smiled widely and leaned towards Sam and Dean. Dean gave him a sarcastic smirk and turned his gaze away.

“As long as we're stuck here with you having to listen to this crap, mind explaining to us how you managed to get out of that devil's trap back there? And how your angel buddy just up and walked through that holy oil?”, Dean asked, looking back up at the Demon when he was finished.

The Demon leaned back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmmm....how did we do that...you know what?”, he asked, stopping his mock reflection and standing up. “Nope! Not gonna tell you. That'd be too easy. Besides, since you two morons get to actually live through this, I don't want to give away all our trade secrets just now.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a confused look. Sam raised his eyebrows and looked back at the Demon. “Wait....you're _not_ going to kill us?”

The Demon shook his head. “Nah, at least not _yet_ ,” he said, eyes twinkling. “You too dunderheads still got a role to play.”

Dean squinted, shaking his head slightly in confusion. “Wait, did you say 'role'? What role?”

The Demon crossed his arms and let out an exhausted sigh. “Now, that's be telling too, now, wouldn't it? Nah, more fun letting you just blunder into it all on your own....of your own free will, so to say,” he smirked, winking.

The Angel exhaled loudly. “Brother, must you? There is no reason to even talk to these apes.” He squinted at the monitors. “Where's the readout on the viewership? I can't find it.”

The Demon rolled his eyes and sighed, pointing at a digital readout. “Really, brother? Even for someone as technologically challenged as you, that should have been an easy one.”

The Angel glared, and then let his shoulders drop, looking closely at the readout. “Good, almost there.”

“And once Jesse is all juiced up, then what?”, Dean asked.

The Angel regarded him cooly. “He has his own role to play,” he answered simply.

Dean nodded. “And if Jesse has his own ideas?,” Dean asked. “I mean, if he gets it in his head to, oh, I dunno, _dump_ you two and use his powers for another cause....how're you gonna stop that from happening?”

The Angel gave Dean a half smile. “Are you trying to sow seeds of dissent, Dean Winchester? It won't work, you know. Jesse knows what he has to do, and is completely on board with it.”

Dean smirked. “Says the guy holding the leash attached to a fifty-foot shark.”

The Angel paused and straightened up. “Like I said, Dean, he's totally on board with this. Everything is proceeding according to our plan. That's why we're winning, and your team, well....what's the score now? New Orleans? Baltimore?,” the Angel recited while the Demon held up his fingers, counting along. “And now, once Jesse is activated, pretty much everywhere else....will belong to us.”

The Demon smiled and held up three fingers to Dean and Sam, shaking his head. “We win, _Win_ chesters,” he said, mocking. “Payback's a bitch, isn't it?”

Sam and Dean both frowned, confused. “Payback?”, Sam questioned. “Do we know you?”

The Demon leaned back, regarding Sam for a second, smiling. He shook his finger at him.

“Clever,” he scolded. “Very, very clever, but no, Sam Winchester, you ain't getting me that easy.” He turned back to the screen. “Look, fellas, looks like it's time for the big fireworks show.”

***

Pastor Wald looked up nervously at the digital readout. Sixty-six point three. He let out a large breath. _Showtime_.

“Friends, I...I need you to hear me right now, because what I'm about to tell you is the God's honest truth. And I need you, no, I'm begging you, to believe me.” He looked around the auditorium. Thousands of eyes were fixed on him, transfixed.

“Friends, faithful followers, we have all been deceived. This....this.. .Shield of Heaven,” he said, pointing at the crest emblazoned on a placard next to him on the stage. “It's a dupe, a fraud!”, he shouted. There were gasps from the audience. Pastor Wald glanced offstage. Jesse Turner was staring at him, mouth open, his face white. He then looked up at the readout. Sixty-six point four. He had to hurry.

“That's right, a fraud I said! Just like me!,” he stepped away from the podium and pounded his chest. “I don't believe in some almighty God, friends...I believe in the allmighty dollar! That's it! More of you drooling morons watch me, the richer I get! So, go on, you dumb sons-of-bitches, and all you out there watching this. Go ahead, shell out your hard earned cash, so I can roll it all up into a cigar and smoke it!”

He saw the looks of anger on the faces of the devout and then nervously looked back up at the counter. It was wavering between sixty-six point five and sixty-six point four, fluctuating back and forward. Jesse had taken a step out onto the stage, but apparently didn't know what to do, eyeing the cameras warily. Pastor Wald looked back at the display. Sixty-six point five. They weren't turning away....they were watching the spectacle....he frowned. He needed to make them shut _off_ their televisions, not keep tuning in. He needed a new tactic....

“Tell you what friends,” he said, strolling back out onto the stage. “Y'all tuned in today 'cause I said that I'd show you the way to keep yourself safe? Well, guess what? That was a big, fat lie. Cause the Apocalypse is a 'comin friends, so all you can do is bend over and kiss your ass goodbye....or better yet, let me give ya a big, fat ass for all of ya'll to kiss!” With that, he unbuckled his belt, letting his girth spill out of shirt, then he turned his back to the cameras and grabbed both sides of his pants, starting to yank them down. He turned his head one final time to the readout. Yep. That did it. Twenty-two point five. He let out a sigh of relief and kept his pants up, re-buckling his belt and smiling in triumph at Jesse Turner.

***

“What the hell is that maniac doing!!”, the Angel screamed at the monitor in the middle of Pastor Wald's speech, his face red and strained, spit flying from his mouth. The Demon was also watching the show, looking shocked.

“Looks like the good Pastor took a stand, there, fellas,” Dean smiled. “Tough break.”

“That's impossible!”, the Angel growled, spinning back towards Dean. “That spineless coward was too afraid for his own skin. He would never....” He trailed off, his eyes growing wide. He looked slowly at the Demon, who cocked his head, then his eyes widened as well, realization setting in.

“That filth....” the Angel whispered softly. “I will rend him into pieces.”

There was a imperceivable shift, and the Angel and the Demon dematerialized.

***

Pastor Wald wiped his brow, nodded with a satisfied grin at the furious devotees in the first five rows, and turned to walk off stage. He noticed Jesse Turner standing there looking confused and smiled at him. He gave him a small bow and began to stride off in the other direction.

There was a startled cry from the audience as two teenage figures suddenly materialized on the stage, one dark haired, the other blond. The blond moved instantly to intercept Pastor Wald and grabbed his suit jacket with both hands, shoving him up against the podium. Fury burned in his eyes.

Pastor Wald looked back into the blazing blue eyes and smiled, waiting.

“Crowley.....” the Angel growled at him.

Pastor Wald's eyes flashed briefly red. “In the flesh, so to say, sunshine,” he replied.

The Angel's fury intensified. “Do you realize what you've done?”

Pastor Wald cocked his head in mock consideration. “Oh, I'd say I've put a rather large dent in those 'activating the Antichrist' plans of yours. Whad'you think?” He flashed the Angel a toothy smile.

The Angel shook his head, eyes closing. “I am going to rip you into little shreds, Crowley....” His grip tightened on the Pastor's jacket.

Pastor Wald smiled. “Oh, I doubt that. See you later, sunshine. Good luck with the Apocalypse....” He tilted his head back and red smoke began pouring out of Pastor Wald's mouth. The Angel glanced over his shoulder and the Demon came running up quickly, extending his hand into the middle of the red smoke. The smoke curled and twisted around the Demon's arm. The Demon gritted his teeth and began to strain, pushing downwards. The smoke began to work it's way back into Pastor Wald's mouth. The Pastor's eyes widened in shock. The smoke started to push back, twisting away from the Demon's hand and arm. It snaked suddenly to the side and began to flow in a new direction. The Demon tried to swing his other arm around, but it was too late, the smoke used the new route and flew completely out through a vent in the auditorium. The Demon let out a grunt of anger and looked at the blond Angel, panting, and shook his head.

The Angel cried out in anger and smashed the podium into splinters with one furious kick. He glared at the vent, then at the shocked and frightened audience, who were watching the scene in rapt horror.

The Angel let out a sigh, and his shoulders slumped.

“And that's our show for the evening, folks. Please go crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of.”

He walked slowly off the stage towards Jesse, the Demon behind him. When he reached Jesse, he nodded at him, placed his arm around him comfortingly, and they all vanished.

***

Sam and Dean watched all of it unfold on the monitor back in the van. After the Angel and Demon had first disappeared, Sam had made short work of the ropes on his chair, and then freed Dean. They watched the confrontation between the Angel, Demon and Crowley and, as soon as Crowley had made his escape, they exchanged a glance and dashed outside.

Dean rushed over to the burning circle of holy oil and dumped a handful of dirt on a section of it. Castiel stepped swiftly over the breach.

“What's happening?” he asked Dean anxiously.

“Oh, I got a pretty good idea about what just happened,” Dean grumbled angrily. “Crowley happened. Son-of-a-bitch. But don't worry, on the plus side, Jesse didn't get his power.” Castiel looked at him in confusion. Dean shook his head quickly. “I'll explain later, but right now, I think we better hightail it outta here.”

They ran to the parked Impala and, tires wailing, they sped back to the highway and headed for the home office in Atlanta.

 


	10. Chapter 10

# Postgame Interview

“You total prick! I'm going to rip your frikkin' head off!”, Dean screamed. Sam was holding him back, a firm grip on both of Deans arms. Crowley regarded both of them cooly, standing with his hands in his suit pants pockets and sipping coffee, eyes slightly raised.

“I really can't see what all the fuss is about,” Crowley replied evenly, taking another sip and turning back to the Big Board. “Everything worked to near perfection, and we finally stopped our worthy opponents on the Armageddon playing field.” He turned back to Dean and lowered his eyebrows in puzzlement. “You would _think_ that you'd be grateful, maybe even want to throw a 'Thank you Crowley” my way or something.”

“Let me go, Sammy!” Dean struggled further. “I want to wipe that smug smile off his damn face!” Sam grunted with effort and looked up helplessly at Crowley.

“You aren't making this any easier, Crowley,” he panted. “You want to maybe _explain_ to us why you didn't think it was necessary to let us in on all of the details of your little plan?”

Crowley shrugged indifferently. “More believability. You three are _terrible_ actors,” he grinned slightly at Dean, who had stopped struggling, but had murder in his eyes.

“Fine, you want it spelled out for you?”, Crowley continued, meeting Dean's eyes. “I needed a foolproof way to de-rail their broadcast. There were too many variables in trying to physically stop it, as you unfortunately directly experienced. If it helps, I _do_ apologize for that.” He paused, waiting for a reaction from the Winchesters, and, getting none, he looked over Sam's shoulder at Castiel, who was seated at the conference table with his arms crossed, not looking. Crowley shrugged again helplessly.

“So, I approached the Pastor with the phony speech, thinking that he would never read it anyway. I was actually surprised that he was willing to do it. I haven't lost my touch, it seems.” He grinned and downed the last of his coffee. “I absolutely knew they'd be watching him, and I also absolutely knew that I needed him alone to possess him. Sending them after you three was the only way to get him all to myself. Well, mostly, anyway. It turned out that our friend Jesse showed up as well, but he can't spot a demonic possession like an Angel or a Demon.” He paced around the conference table to its head. “Once I had the Pastor alone, I stashed this beautiful specimen of a vessel in the closet, possessed the good Pastor, kept my eyes shut, and waited until the Angel left. Smooth sailing.”

Sam sighed loudly. “Except for the part where you used us all for _bait_ , Crowley.”

Crowley's brow lowered. “But....you're all so _good_ at it,” he answered smoothly. When he saw Dean start struggling to break free again, he exhaled loudly and grabbed the chair in front of him with both hands.

“Look, go ahead and get indignant if you must, but we're in this particular game for the _world_ , boys. I needed.... _we_ needed a win here, at any cost. And if that means maybe reverting to some of my own old tried and true methods, then I say; SO BE IT!”, his voice raised, frustration mounting. “We've been getting our rear-ends handed to us for the better part of two months now, and I, for one, am more than a little sick of it! For some reason that only _God_ himself knows, I'm included in this team of misfits. So,” he continued, sighing, his voice lowering. “ if it's Crowley that needs to be here, then it's bloody Crowley you're going to get!” He spun the chair around violently and shoved it away from him, glared back just as angrily at Dean as he passed him, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door.

After a few seconds, Castiel stood up, looking at the doorway before turning back to Sam and Dean.

“I hate to admit it...but he has a point,” he murmured.

Sam sighed. Dean's shoulders slumped. “Cas, we could've easily been killed. All of us,” he said quietly.

Castiel walked over to Dean and nodded. “I know that, Dean. That doesn't change anything. I'm aware of the danger of that always being a possibility. Are you?”, he asked, eyebrow raising. When Dean didn't answer, but simply looked away, Castiel shook his head and paced slowly away. “I'm not saying that Crowley was right,” he continued. “I'm just saying that we were in no more danger than if he hadn't kept the truth from us.” He looked over his shoulder at them both. “And Dean?”, he asked.

“Yeah Cas?”, Dean answered dryly.

“That doesn't mean that I trust, or forgive, him. I want you to know that.”

***

The next day they all gathered together in the conference room. The news reports regarding the Pastor Wald broadcast were sketchy, at best. Most of the larger networks were writing it off as a publicity stunt by the show that backfired. The most important part of the information was that the show had been 'temporarily cancelled' following an investigation by the network executives and the FCC. Pastor Wald was shown in a few interviews, shaky, claiming that he remembered none of what occurred. His now ever-present lawyer continued to state that his client had been hypnotized somehow.

Crowley was seated calmly at the head of the table, his fingers customarily steepled, frowning at the Big Board, and occasionally glancing at the Winchesters and Castiel. He clicked the Board off with a remote, and stood up.

“There's been no sighting of either Jesse Turner, the Angel nor the Demon in the last few hours. I'd like to point out that that doesn't mean they aren't going to pop up again, and soon. And most likely looking for us.”

There was a long, tense pause as Sam, Dean and Castiel watched Crowley.

Sam finally cleared his throat. “What's the status on Jesse, then? Is he powerless?”

Crowley shrugged. “Can't be certain. My sources tell me that the followers that tattooed themselves are still in a sort of religious trance. In my opinion, that means he's still relatively powerful.”

Castiel nodded. “I agree. Close to two-million followers is a lot of souls. I believe that he may be able to feed off of all of them, like a battery.”

“Any way to break that connection?”, Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. I would say that we have to deal with Jesse Turner as he is.”

Sam shook his head. “Man, Cas, I can't go with that,” he said. “I knew this kid. In his heart, I believe, no, I _know_ , he's a good person. They've filled his head with so much crap, he can't think straight. I think we can get him back.” Sam looked around the room. “We have to at least try.”

Crowley sighed. “If you must. I won't attempt to stop you there. If it works, that's a big win for our side.”

Castiel stood up. “Of more immediate concern, is whether we're on the right track with hunting down Raguel. The Angel I spoke to was very...ambiguous...about me calling him that.”

Crowley's brow furrowed. “You don't think it's him? Damn. I thought we were on the right track there.”

Castiel shook his head. “It still might be, but if it is, he's _changed_ , somehow.”

Crowley frowned. “Changed how?”, he asked.

Castiel looked up at the ceiling before continuing. “I'm not sure. The vessels that he was using, that _both_ of them were using, were different than the ones in Baltimore. Still teenagers, though.”

Crowley rubbed his chin. “Switching vessels? That only makes sense if they're burning through them too quickly. And yeah, for an Archangel, that makes sense. But Baltimore was only a few weeks ago. They can't have burned through them in that short of a time, even an Archangel can't do that.”

Castiel nodded. “Exactly. There's got to be another reason. Plus, they were able to break both the ring of holy oil and the devil's trap, by seemingly, switching energies.”

“Switching energies?” Crowley asked, obviously confused.

“It wasn't subtle,” he answered. “I watched the energy in the Angel switch from positive to negative, from heaven to hell -so to say- when he walked out of the circle. The Demon did the same thing. They seem to be able to shift somehow.”

“Or they are containing _both_ types of energies in their vessels,” Crowley mused. “That _would_ actually explain them burning through their respective vessels so quickly. So, they figured out a way to control both types of energy. If it is Raguel....”

Sam shook his head. “No. I've got another idea on that.”

Castiel and Crowley turned towards him.

“When we were in the van, both of them kept mentioning 'roles to play',” he paused, looking at Dean. “Sound familiar to you?”

Dean shook his head. “Gabriel's dead, Sam. It can't be him.”

“You sure about that?”, he answered simply. “It wouldn't have been the first time we all thought that.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, that's no lie. So, what's the play?”

Sam looked back to Castiel. “Is there any way to summon Gabriel? Even if he's hidden and protected himself?”

Castiel paled. “He is....was....and Archangel, Sam. There are _ways_...but I can't guarantee....”

“Let's do it,” Crowley said, interrupting. “This lead sounds promising. And anything's better than sitting around here waiting for the next shoe to drop,” he glanced at Castiel. “What'd you need to get started?”

Castiel met his eyes evenly. “It's not that simple, Crowley. Summoning an Archangel that is actively hiding himself requires extraordinary methods.”

Crowley nodded slightly. “I don't doubt that. So, once again; What.Do.You.Need?”

Castiel looked down at the table, the breath leaving him. He brought his head back up and shook his head.

“I'm banished for the moment, it will have to be one of you that gets it.”

Crowley's eyes widened. “So what we need is....”

““Right in the middle of Heavens vault,” Castiel finished. “We need to break into Heavens Vault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it for Episode 3 of Castiel and Crowley: The Next Missions! I hope you liked it, loved it (sent a link on to all of your friends...*cough cough*) :)
> 
> There'll be a new Episode in about two weeks premiering, so stay tuned! And thank you all for reading! - WatchingOne


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